Beginnings
by Red Lioness
Summary: Charles Offdensen/OC/OC/OC    This is the backstory to Charles meeting the triplets from Pieces on the Board story.  It's also the beginning of my first published polyamorous relationship.  It has turned out to be more popular than the adventure story.
1. Chapter 1

"I'm here about the room for rent," Charles stated.

The woman who answered the door gave him an incredulous look.

"It's on the third floor," she told him. "Can you manage the stairs?"

She was right to wonder; Charles was still quite a mangled excuse for a man. The beating he had taken at the hands of the man in the silver mask had left him scarred, bruised and walking with the assistance of a cane.

"I can manage," he told her shortly.

The woman stepped back out of the way, holding the door for him as he hobbled inside. It was quite a nice house; made to look like an old Victorian but Charles could tell by the size of the rooms it was fairly recently built.

"Up the stairs," the landlady instructed.

The woman walked easily up the flight and waited for Charles to climb the steps. She looked slightly uncomfortable at watching his struggle, but she didn't offer to help him, either. She was a fairly young woman, blonde, her features a mix of Caucasian and Asian. She wore blue wire-framed glasses and her hair was in a braided crown around her head.

"You're sure about the stairs?" she prompted when Charles joined her on the second floor.

"I'm still healing. It will get better."

"If you say so," she sighed, leading him to the end of the hall and up another flight of stairs. Charles eyed the doors as he followed her.

"Are any of these rooms open?"

"No. We only have one room for rent."

"You and your husband?"

"My sisters and I," the woman corrected.

She started up the next flight without further comment. Charles braced himself against the lingering pains and mounted the next steps. The landlady was waiting by a door.

"This is it," she said, opening the door.

The room was a surprisingly spacious bedroom, done up in grays and browns. There was a wrought iron bed, a heavily laden bookshelf, a small TV on a worn stand, an empty desk and a pair of well-used armchairs. And lamps. There must have been five lamps in the room.

For some reason, this made the ghost of a smile tug at Charles' mouth.

"Bathroom's across the hall and we don't have a dresser, but there's shelves in the closet," the landlady announced. "Rent's $550 a month."

"Five-fifty? That's a lot for one room," Charles stated.

"Utilities are included, plus all the cable and internet you can choke down, plus food. My sister likes to cook."

And absolutely nothing in his name. That was ideal. Charles hobbled over to the window. Oh, it actually wasn't a window, it was a French door leading out onto a balcony just large enough for a chair. That would be a nice place to sit when the weather warmed up. An iron fire ladder was bolted to the brickwork on the back of the house. There was a medium-sized yard that blended into dense woods that dropped sharply down a hill. In the distance, he could see the sparkle of sunlight on the bay.

Completely ideal.

"I'll take it."

"First and last month's rent are due before . . ." the landlady trailed off as Charles reached into his coat pocket and drew out an envelope stuffed with bills.

"This should cover the first couple of months."

The landlady opened the envelope and counted out hundred dollar bills with practiced speed.

"The first twenty-three," she admitted.

"Twenty-four," Charles corrected.

"Twenty-three," the landlady stressed. "Twenty-four months at five fifty would be $13,200. There's $13,000 here. But I suppose I could let it slide, seeing as how you've been with us so long."

Another ghost of a smile played around Charles' lips.

"My name's Faith Noh, that's N-O-H. My sisters Hope and Mercy will be home this evening, yes, Faith, Hope and Mercy, Mom thought it was cute, yes, _Noh_ Faith, Hope, or Mercy, Dad thought he was funny. Dinner's usually around seven, there's a laundry chute at the end of the hall. I'll go get the lease agreement printed out, Mr. . . ?"

"Stonebreaker. Charles Stonebreaker. And, if it were at all possible, I'd like to dispense with a lease."

Faith eyed Charles thoughtfully, then looked down at the thousands of dollars in her hands.

"I'll just bet you would," she muttered.

She gave Charles a hard stare, but finally seemed to decide he was too injured to be a threat.

"Okay. But the first time we catch wind of anything funny, you are out on your ass, Mr. Stonebreaker."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Ms. Noh. I plan to recuperate in this lovely, peaceful place and not put you ladies out any more than absolutely necessary. Did I infer correctly that laundry service is included?"

"Yes. I'm pretty sure we can pick your stuff out from ours. When are you planning on moving in?"

"Now, if that's all right," Charles informed her.

"N-now? Uh, yeah, I guess that's . . . do you need help with your stuff?"

"I had a friend drive my car over; I still have trouble driving. He'll help." Charles pulled out a cell phone and dialed it. It only rang once before being answered. "Bernard? Yes; I'm taking it. Could you bring my suitcases up? Ms. Noh will meet you at the door."

A cackle of laughter and the gasp of: 'Your landlady's name is _Miss No_?' were audible across the room. Faith rolled her eyes and headed for the stairs.

"Don't laugh, Bernard, she's of Japanese descent," Charles chided gently.

"Is she hot?"

Charles paused as he heard Faith's footsteps thump down the stairs. Judging her to be out of earshot, he changed his tone from 'exasperated friend' to 'commander'.

"Bring up the camera; I want you to be able to access the house from the woods later on."

"On the third floor, sir?"

"There's a fire escape."

"Dog?"

"I've seen no evidence of one."

"Other residents?"

"Two sisters, Hope and Mercy, who apparently work during the day. I'll text you if this turns out to be wrong."

"'Hope and Mercy'? What's this one's name?"

"Faith."

A tiny snicker escaped Bernard.

"Focus."

"I apologize, sir. I'll bring up the – Jesus, did they give you enough drugs? You could make a fortune off this on the street! Hey, there she is! Ah, she ain't bad; I'd do her."

Ms. Noh had evidently come out of the front of the house, for Bernard was back into 'annoying friend' character.

"Bernard, I have to live here," Charles sighed.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll bring your stuff up in a second, Charlie. Bye."

Charles clipped the phone shut and made it a point to remember the 'Charlie'. Bernard – or rather, Klokateer #568 – would have to step lively to make up for the 'Charlie'.

* * *

"Hi, are you Miss Noh?"

Faith paused in the driveway. Her new tenant's car was parked at the curb. It was a nondescript gray sedan – almost purposefully bland – just the sort of thing you'd expect a middle-class office type to drive.

Mr. Stonebreaker's friend was not at all what you expected to be chummy with a middle-class office type.

"Are you Bernard?"

"Yeah!"

Bernard was a mountain of a man. His hair was cropped desperately short in the hair cut military types called a 'high and tight'. A tribal tattoo decorated the left side of his skull and it looked like someone had tried to take out his right eye with a knife at some point. He was wearing a black turtleneck and thick winter coat, but just by the shape of him you could tell that when he flexed his muscles, other muscles had to move out of the way first.

Bernard pulled the last suitcase out of the trunk of the car. There were four sizeable cases on the sidewalk. The large man rooted around in the front seat and came out with a paper grocery bag that rattled when he shifted it.

"Here, could you carry his pills? If I dropped them and they got all mixed up, that could seriously suck."

Faith took the bag and peered into it. It was nearly a third full with prescription medication. Most of the medication names were unpronounceable and wrapped almost all of the way around the bottle. Every one she could see was prescribed to Charles O. Stonebreaker.

"Uh . . . what happened to him?"

"Oh, he interrupted a robbery. Three snot-nosed little shits nearly beat him to death over a fuckin' TV – excuse me," Bernard belatedly censored himself as he stuffed suitcases under his arms like they weighed nothing.

"Oh, I was in the Marines for four years; I've heard worse, trust me," Faith said.

"Cool. But yeah; he just got out of the hospital yesterday. I think I'd want to get away from everything until I was back on my feet, too."

Faith started back inside, holding the door open for Bernard.

"So . . . that was all? It was just a robbery?"

"I don't think you can call it 'just a robbery' when someone ends up legally dead for three minutes," Bernard muttered in a low voice.

"Jesus . . ."

"Yeah. Charles is . . . he wasn't super-outgoing before, but he's probably just going to keep to himself for a while. I know you're just the landlady, but could you like . . . check on him? Make sure he's still breathing occasionally?"

"We'll see him at meals," Faith protested. "My sister Mercy is a lot nicer than I am; she'll probably take him under her wing."

"Lives up to her name, huh?"

Faith looked away with a neutral grunt.

"Just make sure he doesn't fall down all these stairs, okay? Shit . . I mean geez . . ."

Faith snorted as Bernard staggered up to the final landing. Charles opened the door for his friend and the huge man lugged the suitcases inside.

"I think this one has your laptop in it," Bernard said, letting one suitcase slide out from under his arm and flop onto the bed.

"Where's my guitar? Oh. Oh yes, I forgot," Charles said sadly.

Dethklok had 'buried' their manager with his beloved Les Paul. The first thing Charles would do when he 'came back from the dead' was send a couple of Gears to his mausoleum with jackhammers and get his fucking guitar back.

"I've got your medicine," Faith reported, setting the bag down on the desk. Poor guy; the aforementioned snot-nosed little shits must have stolen his guitar as well. "And . . um . . . Hope has a guitar. I bet she'd let you use it."

"She's a guitarist?"

"No, she's pianist who can pick at guitar. She's got this thing about orphan instruments . . . It doesn't matter if she could play it or not, she just hates to see them wasting away."

"Oh. That sounds sweet. I wonder; could I trouble you for a glass of water? It's time for my medication," Charles inquired politely.

"Sure, no problem."

Faith left and started down the stairs to the first floor. By the time she descended the first flight of stairs, Bernard had a hand held GPS out and was recording the exact position of Charles' new quarters.

"I don't see anything like a security system; no wires or anything to circumvent," the battered CFO stated.

Bernard went out onto the small balcony and took pictures of the woods, the fire ladder and even the frame of the French door.

"I'm going to need you to be my eyes and ears while I recuperate," Charles announced. "There's something far bigger than Dethklok at stake here. If things go as planned, we'll have roughly twenty-four months to uncover the forces behind the Revengencers."

"You don't think they were just a terrorist group, my Lord?"

"Mordhaus wouldn't have fallen to a group of disgruntled metal fans, Bernard."

The unmasked Gear took up the three suitcases and stashed them in the closet. Charles unzipped the last one awkwardly and took out his laptop. The mangled CFO set it gingerly on the desk, then sat back down on the bed without opening it. Bernard came and took the last suitcase and emptied the contents into the closet shelves before shoving the empty case under the bed with the others.

"Are there any further instructions, sir?"

"Careful of the 'sir'," Charles warned.

Footsteps could be heard on the stairs.

"Sorry, Charles," the Gear murmured. "Do you need anything else?"

Faith came into the room with a glass of water. Charles murmured his thanks and began to line up medication bottles on the desk.

"I'm going to take my meds and sleep. I just need to rest. Call me, okay?"

"Okay. Will do, buddy; just you hang in there. Nice to meet you, Miss Noh."

"Nice to meet you, too. Um, there's a clean glass in the bathroom if you need any more water, Mr. Stonebreaker. I'll be in the basement so if you need anything just yell down the laundry chute."

"Thank you, Miss Noh. I'll see you at dinner," Charles said.

His old servant and new landlady left him alone.

* * *

Faith walked Bernard out, then went back down to her painting in the basement. Focus eluded her, so she walked back up to the third floor and put her ear to the new tenant's door. She heard light snoring, so she went back down to the first floor and pissed around until it was time for her sisters to come home.

Mercy was first.

She walked through the door, dumped her bag on the couch and heaved a long and frustrated sigh.

"I loathe children and there should be a long, arduous licensing process before people are allowed to spawn," she announced to the world in general.

"That's a comforting opinion coming from a teacher," Faith said with a grin. "Irish cider?"

"Yes, dear God, please!"

Faith poured apple cider into two mugs and put them into the microwave. Mercy flopped down at the kitchen table and stretched. True to the concept of identical siblings, she strongly resembled Faith right down to her glasses. Mercy's spectacles were red wire frames and her blonde hair was in a French twist rather than a braided crown. She also liked A-line skirts and had an unfortunate fondness for sweater vests.

Faith took the hot mugs of cider from the microwave and topped them up with brandy before placing one in front of Mercy and cupping the other in her own hands.

"So, on a more cheerful note, what would you do if someone handed you $13,000?"

"Oooo, thirteen grand? We could put in a pool."

"We got a new tenant. He paid for two years in advance," Faith announced.

"Two _years_? In advance?" Mercy echoed.

Her sister slid an envelope across the table.

"In _cash_," she stressed.

"Holy shit . . ." Mercy muttered, counting out the bills. "We can't even deposit this all at once; we'll get audited. We'll have to split it three ways. Let's see, that's . . . uh . . ."

"Two of us will deposit $4,334 dollars and one will do $4,332. You're the worst teacher ever."

"I'm an English teacher; screw off. This guy paid $13,000 in cash up front? Is he a drug dealer?"

"I don't think he's a drug dealer," Faith said. "But something's off. I suppose I should tell you that he's in extremely bad shape. His friend, Bernard, said that he interrupted a robbery and three kids beat him to death."

"You mean 'beat him _nearly_ to death'," Mercy corrected.

"No, I mean beat him to death as in legally dead for three minutes, we're talking paddles, 'Clear!', zap, heart's beating again."

"Eeek."

"Yeah. He 'moved in', but Bernard unpacked for him and then Charles took his meds and slept. He's been sleeping all afternoon."

"Charles?"

"Charles Stonebreaker. He didn't want to sign a lease agreement."

"He's probably still afraid. I mean . . . Jesus, the guy _died_. Poor thing."

"Yeah, normally I wouldn't let someone move in without signing a lease, but I felt sorry for him."

"The money could be from an insurance claim. Maybe they never caught the guys that beat him and he's afraid to use checks."

"It's possible."

"I'm home! You may all rejoice!" A new voice announced.

Hope Noh entered the kitchen and plucked the jug from the counter and set up her own brandied cider. She resembled her sisters, sharing the same coloring and poor eyesight. The frames of her glasses were green.

"We have a new tenant," Mercy informed her. "Charles Stonebreaker."

"Is he hot?" the youngest (by twenty minutes) sister asked.

Mercy looked over at Faith, who considered the question carefully.

"It's hard to tell," she admitted sadly.

Mercy and Faith apprised Hope of the situation.

"Oh my God . . . poor guy. I don't think we should kick him out. Mercy's probably right; he probably just wants to hide until he's better. Plus, we'd have to give the money back. And $13,000 could pay for a _sweet_ vacation."

"I think we should put in a pool," Mercy cut in.

"Something still feels off," Faith muttered. "I just can't put my finger on it."

"Do you honestly think he's a threat? I mean, we're not exactly helpless little damsels . . ." Hope began.

"Physically? I don't think we should have anything too hard to chew for dinner; he might not make it through the meal."

"Fish it is," Mercy declared, getting up and going to the refrigerator.

"But his 'friend' was just . . . it almost reminded me of some big mafia guy. Weedy little business type with his hired muscle; maybe he got beat up in a gang war or something."

"How about we give it a few days? If we think something's up, we'll ask him to find somewhere else to stay," Hope suggested. "I mean . . . we could really use the money. Piano lessons are dropping off and your paintings aren't selling like they used to – no offense – and the salary of one teacher isn't going to keep us afloat."

"They haven't sent out notices yet," Mercy cut in. "I don't know if I'll have a job next year."

Faith groaned and put her head in her hands.

"So . . . look on the bright side! If this guy is a criminal and he's hiding out here, then we'll be his safe house. I mean . . . in the Sopranos, the war never came to Tony's house, did it?"

"Did it?" Mercy asked.

"What?"

"Did it? We stopped watching that show after about the third season," Mercy pointed out.

"This line of reasoning is _so_ comforting, I can't even begin to tell you," Faith sighed.

"Look, what I'm saying is that as long as he's just sleeping and healing, who cares what he does for a living! Money is money and business is business!"

"And thirteen thousand dollars is thirteen thousand dollars."


	2. Chapter 2

Charles sat at his first meal as Charles Stonebreaker under the awkward silence of a table full of strangers trying to figure out what to say to each other. The disguised manager looked around at the three women present. They all looked alike, obviously, but in time he'd be able to easily tell them apart. Let's see; now he needed a cheat.

Faith he recognized by her braided crown. She must be queen of the house. Let's see, the frames of her glasses were blue, Catholics associated the color blue with the Virgin Mary, so blue to religion to Faith. That would work.

The one on his left had been introduced as Mercy and she wore red-framed glasses. Noh, Mercy to 'no mercy' and no mercy led to blood and gore, which led to red. Easy.

The one on his right was Hope and she wore green glasses. Hope . . . green . . . green was the color of spring and 'hope springs eternal'. He should be able to remember that.

So he had a safe base of operations and no one in this town knew a thing about him. Once again, Charles Foster Offdensen had landed on his feet.

"Um . . . so, Mr. Stonebreaker . . . are you from Indiana?" Mercy asked.

Charles tried to inhale a mouthful of salmon and almost started choking. How the hell had she known that? He had gotten rid of his Midwestern slur by high school! And not only had she known he was from the Midwest, but she had pinned it down to the state!

"How – how could you tell?" Charles managed between sips of tea.

"Oh. Uh, well, your last name. I went to Purdue and one of my classmates was named 'Stonebreaker'. She said it was a pretty common last name in the area."

"Only . . . ah . . . only in the upper Northwest portion of the state," Charles admitted. "But I spent the latter part of my formative years in Richmond, Indiana."

"Richmond . . ." Mercy said thoughtfully. A smile crossed her face. "'Tom Raper RVs!'"

Charles sighed.

"I knew you were going to say that," he muttered. "That's what everyone remembers about Richmond."

"'Tom _Raper_'?" Faith echoed.

"He started selling RVs, but he's practically got a monopoly on transportation sales in Richmond," Charles stated. "Cars, boats, trailers . . ."

"The guy's last name is _Raper_ and he decided to put that on his car lot?" Hope asked in horror.

"If you ask a Richmondite, they don't even blink," Charles admitted. "They say: 'Yes? That's his name.'"

"So . . . um . . . what do you do for a living, Mr. Stonebreaker?" Hope asked politely.

"I'm an estate lawyer," Charles said.

"Oh. That must be . . . . uh . . . . restful," Hope stated carefully.

Faith snorted.

"Do you not remember the reading of Grandpa's will?" The blue-clad sister asked.

"Ugh," Mercy opined.

"Well, I'm sure not _all_ will readings are like that . . ." Hope said. "I'm sure _some_ families are normal."

"Less than you would imagine," Charles said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "How about you ladies? What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a teacher!" Mercy said quickly. "I teach second grade."

"I give piano lessons at a local music store," Hope said. "I also play piano for events."

"I run a little import business to support my painting habit," Faith said. "I have an office over the garage, but most of my stock is in a storage place in town."

"What a well-rounded group," Charles observed.

There was another long, awkward silence of people who didn't know what to say to each other.

"Ah . . . . .so . . . um are any of you ladies seeing anyone?" Charles asked.

"No." The answer was instant and came from three different throats at once.

Mercy looked across the table at Hope in surprise.

"You aren't? What about Steve?"

"What _about_ Steve?"

"Okay."

"Mercy's still recovering from her last boyfriend," Faith announced, a slight smirk playing around her lips.

"You said we'd never speak of that again," Mercy growled.

"That's surprising," Charles said. "You all seem like such . . . ."

"I've pretty much given up on men," Faith said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"One more bad boyfriend and I'm just going to start collecting cats," Mercy sighed.

"I'm not quite at that point yet," Hope said, holding her fingers a small distance apart. "Not quite. Like *this* far away."

"It's just really hard to find Mr. Right," Mercy said.

"Or Mr. Good Enough," Hope sighed.

"I'm waiting for Mr. It's-Totally-Healthy-To-Live-With-Your-Sisters-At-Your-Age," Faith said.

Another three-way groan echoed through the room.

"We're _all_ waiting for that guy," Hope announced.

"He sounds dreamy."

"That . . . ah . . . that seems like a really piddly thing to get upset over," Charles announced.

They still lived together? Big deal; try living with someone with an irrational fear of quarters or someone who was in competition with Ramses the Great for siring offspring.

"If one of us finds a good guy, I think we're just going to work up a schedule and share him," Faith growled.

The triplets laughed, but Charles stayed quiet. Did that statement ever bring up some mental images!

"S-sorry," Mercy snickered. "I hope we didn't offend you."

"No, no, not at all. I . . . uh . . . I was just thinking about what you said."

The triplets laughed again. Charles reflected that his stay here might be more interesting than he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

Charles Offdensen projected an air of complete and total control, even as a battered wreck of a man. He slept most days as his body healed. At first he slept soundly – the painkillers kept him in a borderline coma for most of the time. But as he healed, his doctors weaned him off of the drugs. As he started to sleep naturally, he started to remember. He started to remember being buried alive.

Oh sure; it had simply been a ploy to fake his death and hide him from his enemies and in truth loyal Gears were waiting for the funeral rites to be over so that they could tunnel into the Offdensen mausoleum from underneath and free him.

However.

It was one thing to make and execute this plan. It had been quite another to be sealed into a tomb. Actually, being sealed in wasn't so bad. It was that moment when Charles realized he could open his eyes and he had and it hadn't made a difference. He tried to stretch a bit and found he couldn't because he was sealed in a coffin and coffins weren't for people who could move. As bad as that moment had been, the next one was worse because that was when Charles realized he had another ten hours of lying in his own grave.

There was an oxygen supply hidden in the base of the casket so he wouldn't asphyxiate while waiting for rescue and it had enough air for 24 hours, just in case of any snags. Like say, if he started panicking and breathing quite heavily.

When the Gears had broken into the mausoleum two hours ahead of schedule, Charles was drenched in sweat from head to toe and hadn't been able to stop shaking for a further three hours.

He was able to put the whole experience behind him during daylight hours, but at night at the terrors came up out of the shadows to cloud his mind and rob him of precious sleep.

The actual event of being locked in his coffin had been terrifying, but it had been all mental. Charles had been sealed in; nothing could get to him. In his dreams, the rats arrived to eat his eyes after only a few minutes. As he lay there in the box, blind, bleeding, he heard the voices of two Gears outside of the coffin.

"So, are we actually going to get him out?" the first one asked.

"Nah. Fuck that guy. I don't want to do this job any more anyway," the second said.

The sound of their retreating footsteps echoed loudly in the marble chamber.

"N-n-nooooo!" Charles moaned. "NOOOOOOOO! _Don't bury me! I'm not dead!"_

"Charles, wake up!"

Charles' eyes snapped open to the blurry form of one of the Noh sisters shaking him.

"Charles, Charles, wake up! You're having a nightmare!"

It sounded like Mercy, though he wasn't 100% certain.

"I . . . it's . . . . . . oh God . . . . . oh God, it was just a dream," he gasped, putting his hands over his eyes.

The mattress sagged as probably-Mercy sat on the edge of it.

"Yes . . . . yes, it was just a dream," she crooned. "You're safe."

"What the hell was that screaming about?" A second sister gasped, stumbling in the door.

The newly-arrived triplet snapped the lights on, revealing herself to be Hope. It was Mercy sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Did someone fall asleep watching _The Serpent and the Rainbow_?" Faith inquired, straggling into the room.

A tortured bark that might have been a laugh burst from Charles' lips.

"I – I wish that was it," he gasped. "I – I really wish that was it . . ."

Mercy laid a slender hand on his chest. Charles about jumped out of his skin.

"Your heart is going a million miles an hour!" She blurted.

"It's okay," Hope said, sitting on the other side of the bed. "You're safe here. You don't have to worry about being beat . . . up . . ."

"That's kind of different from being buried alive," Faith observed.

Shit. Living with intelligent, observant people required a better cover story.

"It's not that," Charles sighed, letting his hands drop. "There was a mix-up at the hospital when I was received. My heart had stopped beating when the EMTs arrived and my paperwork said 'DOA'."

"Oh no . . ." Mercy whispered.

"They sent me down to the morgue. I was locked in a drawer for two hours."

"Oh God!" Mercy squealed, turning away.

"That would give me night terrors," Hope gasped.

"You're safe here!" Mercy said. "You're safe and you're going to get better – would noise help? You could run the radio –"

"Our Daddy used to say: What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. So just think; there's got to be a good reason for the night terrors," Hope said cheerfully.

"That's incredibly stupid," Faith observed. "What possible good reason could there be for night terrors?"

"Well," Charles said. "They seem to be handy for getting three beauties into your bedroom in their underwear."

The Noh sisters blinked and then looked down at themselves. Faith and Hope were wearing tank tops and cotton panties. Mercy had a thin slip on that wasn't any more modest. Faith and Hope tugged the hems of their tank tops down lower. Mercy tried to cross her arms casually over her chest.

"I'm sorry," Charles rasped, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I shouldn't have said that. Please realize that I'm in no position to do anything but appreciate."

The triplets gave him a sidelong look, but they were fighting back smiles.

"At least you called us 'beauties'," Faith allowed.

"And you don't have your glasses on," Hope observed with a smile.

"You're just flattering your landladies, Mr. Stonebreaker!" Mercy said, shaking her finger at him.

"You . . . ah . . . you can call me Charles," Charles said shyly.

Smiles all around. Faith and Hope stopped tugging at their shirts and Mercy uncrossed her arms.

"You can call us by our first names, too," Mercy said.

"Are you going to be okay now, Charles?" Hope asked.

"Yes, I think so. Thank you ladies for checking on me," Charles said.

There was something rather nice about having a lovely young woman calling him by his first name. Also, Charles didn't see the need to tell them he had 20/20 vision in his left eye. It was only his right eye that was impaired and he wore glasses to keep from getting headaches from the discrepancy.

"You call if you need anything, all right, Charles?" Mercy said, leaning forward at the waist.

"I . . . um . . . I certainly will."

_Absolutely_ no need to point out the vision issues.

"Good night, Charles," Hope said, walking around the end of the bed and showing off a rather amazing back yard.

"Good night."

No need _at all._

Mercy and Hope walked out of the bedroom, no doubt heading for their own cozy beds. Faith dawdled for a minute longer, then reached down and took Charles' glasses off of the bedside table. She peered critically through the lenses for a moment, then gave her tenant a _look_.

For the first time in a long time, Charles felt a blush tint his cheeks.

"'Three beauties', hmmm?"

"I . . . uh . . . I didn't lie," Charles offered.

Faith smirked and replaced the glasses.

"Oh, how _honest_," she said. "Good night, Mr. Stonebreaker."

She was almost to the door when Charles spoke again.

"Ah . . . um . . . . aren't . . . aren't you going to call me 'Charles' now?" he inquired.

Faith paused in the doorway and stared at him for a long moment.

"Does . . . it matter?" she asked.

"I guess not, but . . .I'd . . . uh . . I'd kind of like it if you did, Faith," he stated.

Charles wasn't sure why it made a difference all of a sudden, but for some reason he wanted to be on first name terms with all of the triplets. Maybe it had something to do with lovely young women saying his name with a smile. Faith appeared to think this over, then smiled shyly.

"All right," she said quietly. "Good night, Charles."

And that _did_ make him feel nice.

"Good night, Faith."


	4. Chapter 4

Charles stared at himself in the mirror. Good God, he was a freakin' mess. It looked like the gashes on his face were finally closed and it might be safe for a shave. His hair was overgrown and he just needed to see a barber, STAT.

He hadn't really left the house for anything other than doctor's appointments but he felt much better. He was even driving himself now instead of having Bernard ferry him everywhere. Charles was still walking with a cane but he might be up for a trip to the outside world. He'd better be because Charles realized with a start that he had nothing to shave with. He had been forbidden to shave for at least three weeks after the attack but now that he was healed there was nothing to take off the scraggle.

Charles rubbed his palm over his cheek and eyed the pink razor sitting on the bathtub's edge. Mercy's bedroom was across the hall and they shared a bathroom. Maybe she wouldn't mind lending him a razor. What did she have in the way of shaving cream? It would no doubt be something fruity and sweet smelling, but Charles thought he could put up with the indignity for one day.

The disguised manager picked up an excessively pink bottle and read the label.

Charles' cheeks turned about as pink as the bottle.

That was . . . for . . . uh . . . he didn't know . . . they . . . uh . . . they made shaving cream just for . . . uh . . . _that_.

He supposed it was . . . a sensitive area and needed special treatment, but – wait a minute. That meant Mercy shaved her . . . sensitive area. Oh . . . . uh . . . wow. He wondered if she shaved it all or just stopping this line of thought right now.

Charles hurriedly replaced the bottle with the highly embarrassing label. He cast another sidelong glance at the pink razor, this time wondering exactly where it had been.

Okay; the barber shop it was!

Charles made his way downstairs – he was not going to miss these stairs – and descended into the basement to speak with Faith.

He hoped she didn't mind her painting getting interrupted.

Charles limped down into the large basement, smelling paint and chemicals. To his surprise, he saw there was a garage door off of the back and a small car parked in the middle of the basement. There must be a sunken driveway that allowed access. But why wouldn't Faith just park her car in the garage? There was a small engine running – one of those paint mixer things maybe? He finally saw the source of the noise.

"You know," he began. "When . . . ah . . . when you said you painted I thought . . . uh . . . I thought you meant on _canvas_."

Faith paused in her work and pulled down the respirator that covered the lower half of her face.

"Hey, 1969 Plymouth Sport Satellites need to be painted, too."

Charles took in the half-painted mural on the hood of the classic muscle car. It was of a Japanese stylized koi splashing around in stylized waves and flowers.

"I . . . uh . . . I would not have pegged you for a gearhead."

"Because I'm a girl?" Faith asked, turning off her airbrush.

"No, because you're a lady," Charles corrected. "You're all ladies. I . . . uh . . . I suppose there's no reason ladies can't be interested in . . . ah . . . in cars."

Faith stared at him for a minute, then looked down at her paint-spattered overalls. Her hair was in its typical braided crown, which was covered with a do-rag. She didn't feel like a lady. But it was nice to know someone thought she was.

"Is this your car?"

"This? Oh no, this is a commission. My baby's in Santa Cruz getting a new engine. She's a 1980 Chevrolet Camaro with a 305 V-8. Well, it _will have_ a 454 V-8 engine."

"Ah."

"Not a fan, huh?"

"I'm . . . uh . . . not into . . . uh . . . muscle cars. I had a . . . uh . . . what was it . . . a 1936 Packard once."

There was a long pause. Charles thought Faith might have been trying to remember the model style, but when he looked back in her direction, her eyes were wide open.

"Y-y-you had a _1936 Packard_?" she wheezed. "Those are like $100,000!"

"Oh. Uh . . . it was pretty nice."

Nathan called it his 'Daddy Warbucks car'. Pickles totaled the thing three months after Charles purchased it. Now that he thought about, he was pretty sure one of the Gears from the motor pool was crying when they hauled the wreckage away. It was then that Charles decided against investing in expensive antiques.

"Pretty nice?" Faith echoed in disbelief.

"Ah . . . . is there a barber shop in town?" Charles asked. "I . . uh . . .I find myself in desperate . . ah . . . desperate need of a trim."

"Well . . . uh . . . there's a barber shop down on Market Street. You go down Main and turn left at the drugstore and it's one the right. _Really_ a '36 Packard?"

"I might be mistaken," Charles muttered, heading for the stairs.

Once out in his current set of wheels, he shook his head at his loose lips. That had been stupid. He should have known a car with a six-digit price tag would raise eyebrows. He'd have to be more careful in the future.

Charles made his way to the middle of town and found the barber shop. It even had the red-and-white striped pole out front. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen one like that. Inside seemed to be stuck in a similar time warp; there were three barbers, all middle-aged, but they were spring chickens compared to the customers.

Old men sat in the chairs and argued loudly with each other about the state of the world. Charles found himself checking for a checkerboard in the corner, but there didn't appear to be one. As the bell over the door chimed, every one of them stopped, turned and stared at him.

Even the barbers stared at him in surprise before the nearest one called out 'Can I help you?' in a curious tone. Part of Charles wanted to say 'Would you believe I want a haircut?' but he bit his tongue. A hole in the wall place like this was perfect for lying low, even if they did have lousy customer service.

"I'd like a haircut," he said evenly.

The barber gave him such an odd look Charles half-expected the answer to be 'Why'd you come here?' Instead the man nodded to the row of chairs under the front window.

"It'll be about five minutes."

Charles took a seat and pretended to be interested in the sports magazines available. The conversation in the room gradually came back. Five minutes turned into ten, but eventually one of the old men got out of a chair and made his way to the front. Money was exchanged and the barber gestured for Charles to take a seat in the middle chair. Conversation stopped again as Charles moved in and sat down, slipping his glasses off and tucking his cane against his leg.

"So . . . . how would you like it?" the barber asked.

"Three inches off of everything," Charles said.

That would take care of his overgrown hair and the beard. The barber started to snip away. This time conversation didn't come back. The old men just eyed Charles in the mirrors. Weren't small towns supposed to be friendly?

"Sooooo . . . . haven't seen you around here before," the barber observed.

"No . . . ah . . . I just rented a room from the Noh sisters."

"Oh, the triplets," the barber said.

"That's right. Ah . . . Mercy . . . ah . . . teaches grade school I believe and . . . Hope teaches piano."

"One of 'em played the piano at our Jenny's wedding," one of the old men stated.

"That was probably Hope," Charles offered.

There was another long period of silence, broken only by the snip of scissors and the buzz of clippers.

"So, just renting a room from them?" the barber prompted.

"Er . . . . yes."

"They're lesbians, you know," an old man muttered.

Charles paused and considered this statement.

"Huh. Really."

"You never see them with a man," another growled.

Charles thought back to the dinner conversation of the previous week. The triplets had seemed fairly mournful of their single status and close to giving up on the hope of finding Mr. Right. It was a bit sad, really. They were intelligent, sharp, caring and at least 1/3 of them shaved their . . . sensitive areas.

"I . . . uh . . understand Hope just broke up with someone named Steve," Charles said.

"Steve?" the barber asked.

"Big Joe's nephew," one old man offered. "Said she got all crazy when he wanted her to move in with him."

"The triplets are pretty close," Charles stated. "I . . .uh . . . think it's admirable that they're so close. Most families I come in contact with barely tolerate each other."

"Lesbians," the first old man muttered.

Charles rolled his eyes. He would have commented further, but the barber moved in with a beard trimmer and started taking off his facial fuzz. Charles obediently tilted his head this way and that as the barber trimmed his beard down to something barely above stubble.

"How's that, sir?"

Charles blinked at himself in the mirror. His hair was fine, but he was still bearded and . . . didn't . . . look like Charles Offdensen. A beard was a perfectly acceptable disguise. If anyone asked he could say he was covering up scars.

"Yes. Ah . . . yes, that's just fine," Charles said, replacing his glasses.

He paid for his haircut and left.

The old men watched him go.

"So," one of them said. "Which one do you think he's nailing?"


	5. Chapter 5

"I like having everyone under one roof; it adds to that strong connection of family," a voice on the television said.

"What are you watching?" Charles asked, limping across the living room.

He was doing better and better these days and had started walking around the park in town to exercise. The weather was starting to warm and it was becoming a pleasant habit. He was getting to know the triplets better in little fits and spurts. They were all . . . quite lovely. It had occurred to him to have a little fling while he was recuperating, but he hadn't decided on which one he'd like to be with.

The triplets were curled up on the sectional couch with wine and snacks.

"Sister Wives," they answered in a chorus.

"Wanna join us?" Hope asked.

"Mmm –"

"I made apple pie," Mercy said, gesturing to the fresh pastry on the coffee table.

"I'll be right there," Charles said firmly. "I saw brandy on the grocery list yesterday. Do we have any?"

"It's on top of the fridge," Faith chuckled.

Charles made his way into the kitchen, braced his cane against the counter, poured a healthy glass of brandy, and limped back into the living room. Faith and Hope were sitting on the couch facing the TV and Mercy was sitting on the part that curved around. Eyes still locked on the television, Faith and Hope scooted apart to make room for him.

"What's this show about?"

"It's about this polygamist guy and his four wives," Hope said.

"They have thirteen kids!" Mercy reported.

"Ah . . . wow. He must . . . eat a lot of oysters," Charles offered.

Another round of giggles rocked through the triplets.

"I'm going to let you in on a dark secret," Faith said. "It's not all about sex."

"Men seem to have this attitude of 'she'll love me if I fu-screw her hard enough'," Hope said. "Not necessarily so!"

"Really? So . . . what is it about?"

"Trust. Dependability. Being part of the family," Faith said.

"Sex," Mercy muttered.

"Mercy!" Faith and Hope blurted in one voice.

"What? It's a little about sex!"

"Just a little!" Hope stressed. "It's more about . . . family. Someone who's there when you need them. Someone to cuddle up with on rainy days."

"Someone to lean on," Faith said. "Not all the time, but you know . . . it would be great to come home from a bad day and just get a long hug."

All three of the triplets gave a small smile.

"Or a backrub?" Charles suggested.

"Yes! That sounds good," Faith agreed.

"I'd like someone to tell me I was doing a good job," Mercy said. "I mean, I think I do, but I don't hear it very often."

"I'd like to hear someone tell me being a musician _is_ a real job," Hope sighed.

"I'd like to hear someone say thank you," Charles offered.

"Say thank you for what?" Faith asked, taking a sip of wine.

"Something. Anything. Doesn't matter, really."

There was a pause of only a few minutes.

"Thank you for not being a creep, Charles," Mercy said.

" . . . . not being a creep?" he echoed.

"Yeah, you're very polite and respectful," Hope said. "You don't oogle us."

"We haven't caught you peeping at anyone yet," Faith said.

"I . . . uh . . . I wouldn't do that," Charles muttered.

He _would_ have the house bugged, but it was strictly for security measures. The Gears were under explicit orders not to copy or disseminate naked pictures or videos of _anyone_. You could probably run a fairly successful porn site off of the bugs in this house. Especially since Charles had caught a glimpse of that embarrassing pink bottle in Hope and Faith's bathroom as well.

"None of our underwear has gone missing," Mercy added.

"You don't come home drunk or have obnoxious friends," Hope continued.

"You're a genuine nice guy, Charles!" Mercy declared.

"You may even be the increasingly rare gentleman," Faith said softly.

A round of slow nods worked through the triplets. Charles looked down at the brandy in his glass.

" . . uh . . . I . . . I . . . uh . . . I think it takes more than . . . uh . . . being respectful and polite and not . . . . um . . . . being obnoxious . . . in . . . ah . . . in the appreciation of a woman's looks to be considered a gentleman," he muttered.

"Not really," Hope corrected.

"Oh. Ah . . . thank you. I . . . I can't remember the last time anyone said such nice things to me."

He really couldn't. He considered it a good day with Dethklok if no one told him to fuck off. He used to consider it a good day if no one called him an asshole, but those got to be too few and far between. Charles took a sip of his brandy.

"You . . . um . . . you do a good job, Mercy. I can tell by the way you talk about your students that you really care about them. More kids need teachers that truly care."

"Thank you!" Mercy said with a big grin.

"Hope, you are a talented musician and people need to hear music. They need it like they need to laugh and cry. You give people a gift when you play for them. Don't ever let anyone tell you making music isn't a real job."

Hope blinked for a moment.

"Oh my God, I'm gonna cry," she whimpered.

"Don't cry!" Faith laughed.

"Faith? Thank you for keeping your family together," Charles said.

"What?"

"You work on that import business when you'd rather be painting cars because somebody has to be the one to keep things together. You let Hope and Mercy make a living with their passions and you put your own on a back burner. I know what that's like. Thank you for working hard."

Faith stared at him for a long moment then her face turned red. Charles worried that Faith was going to carry through on Hope's promise, but Mercy popped up out of her seat and approached him with her arms out.

"Give me a hug!" She ordered.

"I don't do hugs," Charles stated firmly.

"Rubbish! That earned a hug!"

"Can't we work up to it?"

Mercy rolled her eyes and leaned in. She kept her weight on one knee that she put onto the couch so she wouldn't squish anything on the still-fragile Charles but she snaked her arms around his neck and gave him a warm hug.

Charles had never really gotten that phrase; how could a hug be warm aside from sheer temperature fluxuation? But this was a warm hug. He could tell Mercy would hug him all day if he'd let her.

"You are a lovely man," she said. "I'm glad we met you."

"Uh . . ."

Mercy released him and sat back down in her seat. Before Charles could do much more than blush, Hope scooted over and hugged him tightly.

"Me too! Get used to the hugs, buddy!"

"Um . . ."

When Hope sat back, Faith turned and snaked an arm around his waist. The dominant sister's hug was different, almost . . . . shy.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You're . . . you're . . . you're welcome," Charles stammered.

Mercy returned to her seat. Hope . . . didn't scoot back to her spot. She didn't lean on the disguised manager or anything, but she remained very close. Charles could feel the heat from her body on his arm and leg. Faith also stayed closer than she had been. There was this cocoon of warmth going on between them and Charles felt unexpectedly warm in . . . other ways. Neither of the sisters seemed to mind each other's proximity. You would think sisters would get jealous of being flirtatiously close, but Hope and Faith did nothing more than share the occasional conspiring smile.

Charles wondered what he was missing and whether or not he should worry about it.

Well, at least this little interlude narrowed down his possibilities a bit. If Mercy fancied him at all, she was sure to be jealous of Hope and Faith. A quick look blew that thought out of the water. Mercy was giving him the same coy, appreciative looks Hope and Faith were and even snuck in the conspiring grin.

Okay, this was confusing.

"Love should be multiplied, not divided," the TV announced.

What an . . . intriguing thought.

Charles took a deep draught of his brandy.


	6. Chapter 6

"Any plans today, Charles?" Hope asked over breakfast.

"Ah, no, nothing in particular. Maybe a walk down to the river . . ."

"Do you want to come with us? We're driving down to Santa Cruz to pick up Faith's car!"

"Then we're going to swing down to Carmel and walk on the beach," Mercy said.

"Oh, that sounds nice. It's been a while since I was in Carmel. I usually . . . ah . . spent my time on the golf course there."

"Pebble Beach?" Faith said. "Aren't the green fees there an arm, a leg, and your first-born child?"

Charles was ready for this one.

"Not if . . . ah . . not if you have friends in the right places," he stated.

"Ah," the triplets said in unison.

"Oh, have you ever been to the Monterey Bay Aquarium?" Mercy asked. "They cut the field trip budget this year so the class didn't get to go, but I love it!"

"If there's time," Faith stressed. "If we do all of that, we'll get home at midnight."

"So? It's Saturday," Mercy said. "We can sleep all day tomorrow."

"That . . . . uh . . . that does sound fun," Charles admitted. "Sure. I'll go. Are we leaving after breakfast?"

"Yes," Faith said. "We'll drive down to Santa Cruz in Mercy's car, then pick up my baby, then wander our way down to Carmel. You don't have to ride back with Mercy if you don't want." The blue-clad sister leaned towards Charles. "She drives like an old lady."

"At least I'll live to be an old lady," Mercy retorted.

"Surely . . . ah . . . . I could take a turn driving," Charles offered. "Or Hope."

"I'm not driving," Hope said firmly. "I have to learn my lines."

"Your . . ah . . . lines?"

One of those million-megawatt smiles lit up Hope's face.

"I got the part of Cinderella in the local production of _Into the Woods_!" She announced. "I know; it's stupid to get so excited over playing princess at my age—"

"No," Charles stated firmly. "It's sweet. It's nice to see someone taking so much joy in the little things. Makes you . . . ah . . . gives you hope for life."

There was a slight pause at the table as Hope and Charles took a long look at each other. A little sparkle of electricity travelled between them before Hope blushed and dropped her gaze coyly.

Mercy and Faith exchanged a look. This was very good; all these little moments of attraction were starting to build. _Someone_ was bound to have a breakthrough soon.

The moment passed and soon all four of them were cleaning up the breakfast dishes. Faith went up to her office to find the invoice for her car. Hope went up to get her script, leaving Mercy and Charles to pack the car.

Mercy's car was a mid-sized SUV as the triplets decided one of them needed a big vehicle. Faith had her Camaro and Hope drove a Mini. They seemed well practiced at road-trips; there was a little cooler in the middle of the backseat filled with drinks and snacks, pillows for napping and a pre-marked map with contact phone numbers and addresses.

Considering the chaos involved in getting Dethklok anywhere, mass organization was a welcome relief. The triplets really were a find: intelligent, confident, and sweet, not to mention beautiful. They might even qualify for gorgeous, as Charles found himself staring, enraptured, as Mercy put on chapstick in the side mirror.

Of course, you could probably charge admission to watch one of the triplets tend to her lips.

Mercy saw him staring and misinterpreted the look.

"Chapstick?" she offered.

Would it be too cheesy to ask if he could take it directly from her lips? Yes. Yes, it would.

"N-no thank you," Charles stammered. "I . . . uh . . . I was just . . . watching."

Mercy gave him a sideways look.

"The old soup-coolers need a lot of moisturizing," she said by way of explanation. "This family could probably keep Burt's Bees going all by itself. We got a lot of 'fish-face' teasing in school."

"The little boys just couldn't figure out why looking at your mouths made them feel so strange," Charles stated confidently. "Because there is not a man alive who doesn't look at those lips and think about a . . . . . . kiss."

Mercy blushed hotly. Faith would have jumped on that long hesitation to snark: 'Don't you mean 'blowjob'?'

When he had first started to develop an attraction for the triplets, he had fantasized long and hard – pun! – about oral sex. You really couldn't stare at those super-pouty lips and not think about it. But now . . . now he really did want a kiss. He wanted to brush his lips against Mercy's, slip his tongue into her mouth and feel her melt against him.

In fact . . . why didn't he just do that?

Without speaking, the disguised manager leaned in closer, gently invading Mercy's personal space. Her eyes widened slightly and her blush roared hotter, but she made no attempt to move away. Oh, that was a good sign; a very good sign. Charles put his hands against the car door on either side of Mercy's waist, effectively trapping her right in front of him. Again, she made no move to escape. Her breathing increased a bit, her eyelids drooping, giving every impression of an excited woman anticipating a hot kiss.

It had been a long time since a woman had looked like that in front of Charles.

"Okay, is everybody ready to roll? Oh."

Faith stopped at the corner of the SUV and blinked at her sister and renter entwined. After a moment, she held up both hands in supplication and stepped back around the corner. Mercy turned back to Charles and went back into 'kiss pose'.

Charles hesitated. How could he be thinking of about kissing Mercy right in front of Faith? On top of the fact that he was a very private person when it came to showing affection, he could easily turn around and lay a kiss on Faith or Hope. How could it be right to want to be with three different women at once? Only man whores and dogs did that and Charles was neither. It would be incredibly cheap to get Mercy's hopes up when he couldn't even make up his mind between her and her sisters.

"Charles . . ." Mercy breathed, tugging at his shirt.

Charles pulled away from the schoolteacher, trying to ignore the deeply disappointed look on her face.

"I'm . . . I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," he muttered.

"Hey, don't stop on my account!" Faith called from the other side of the car.

Charles turned red and retreated to the garage.

"I . . .uh . . .I need to get something out of my car."

Faith peered cautiously around the corner of the car. Mercy was still leaning against the car door. When she saw her sister, she threw Faith a look that could have not only killed, but dismembered the body, made a stew from the flesh and tanned the skin for tasteful lamp shades.

"Hey, it's not my fault he's shy!" Faith blurted.

Mercy turned and stalked back into the house. Hope when just coming out of her room with her scripts in hand when the middle sister brushed past her in the hallway.

"Are we ready?" Hope asked.

"No!" Mercy snapped. "I have to use the bathroom!"

"Why don't you use the one on the first floor?" Hope asked.

"I forgot something in mine!"

Hope peered up the stairs after her sister.

"Are you crying?"

"No!" Mercy yelled. Then, because she was basically an honest person – "Maybe a little!"

She wasn't teary-eyed over the failed kiss. As much as she was yearning for it, that sort of thing happened. You just tried again later. The confused tears were for the 'I shouldn't have done that'.

Why, _precisely_, should Charles not have done that? Because he didn't really want to kiss her? He just liked the look of her lips freshly moisturized? Well, Mr. Stonebreaker, if you get hot and bothered over freshly applied chapstick, you haven't seen anything yet!

"No more Ms. Nice Guy," Mercy declared.

At the bottom of her makeup bag was a tube of super-high-shine lip gloss. It lit up her mouth like the Fourth of July. Usually she tried _not_ to draw too much attention to her big old fish-lips, but if they gave Charles a tingle, she saw no reason not to pull out the big guns.

Hope poked her head in the bathroom.

"What's the matter?"

"I was _**this**_ close to getting a kiss from Charles. He aborted at the last minute when Faith walked in on us," Mercy said in between applying the lip gloss. "And . . . and then he stopped and said he shouldn't have done that. I don't know why he said that."

"Oh." Hope came fully into the bathroom and leaned against the sink. "The way he looked at me at breakfast . . . I thought we were making real headway. He does kind of look confused when we get flirty, though. You don't think he's . . . monogamous, do you?"

The word 'monogamous' was treated a dirty word.

"God I hope not," Mercy groaned. "It would be just our luck to get the one lawyer in the world with morals."

"I want another Charlie," Hope said in a tiny voice. "I was just thinking that yesterday. I wish he hadn't gone weird on us."

Mercy said nothing, just focused on painting her lips.

"Isn't it kind of weird that our one successful relationship and the best prospect we've had since were both named 'Charles'? That's like our lucky name."

"Charlie was always 'Charlie', though," Mercy said. "I don't think Charles would ever answer to Charlie. It makes sense. Charlie was a boy. Charles is a man. There."

Mercy rubbed her lips together and admired the high shine in the mirror.

"That was what was so important? Lip gloss?" Hope said.

"Charles said he couldn't look at our lips without thinking of kissing them. So I'm going to make him think about kisses until he gives me one," the red-clad sister declared.

A grin slowly worked its way across Hope's face.

"Can I borrow that?"

Mercy handed her sister the tube and waited while Hope applied the shiny goop.

"Lipstick commercial!" They sang in one voice then struck silly, pseudo-sultry poses in front of the mirror.

* * *

"You know, you don't have to be so shy," Faith said. "Nobody here is going to mind if you kiss someone. I'd _like_ it if you kissed Mercy; she really fancies you."

Charles paused in pulling a book out of the back of his sedan.

"'You'd . . . ah . . . you'd like it if I kissed Mercy?'" He echoed. "What about Hope?"

"Or Hope," Faith agreed. "She fancies you, too. I . . . uh . . . actually . . . you make me think twice about giving up on men. I . . . kinda . . . fancy you myself."

Charles stared at her for a long, tense moment.

"How can you sound happy about that?" he demanded. "All three of you are attracted to me and I'm attracted to all of you! How am I supposed to choose?"

Faith blinked at him.

"Who says you have to?" She inquired.

Charles was pretty sure he stopped breathing for a minute.

"W-W-What?"

"Who said you have to choose?" Faith repeated. "Instead of A or B, just take Option C."

Charles was normally very quick on the uptake, but he felt like Faith was speaking another language.

"W-W-Wh . . . . . . . what's Option C?"

"Don't choose," Faith said simply. "Go out with all three of us."

" . . . . _what_?"

"Charles, we've been functioning as a unit since we were born," Faith said. "One lover for all of us is our preferred style of relationship."

Charles went to open his mouth, realized it had been hanging open for a few minutes, closed it, opened it again, realized he couldn't summon a single word, closed his mouth again and finally managed:

"Ahh . . . . . u-uh . . . ahhh . . ."

"Just think about it," Faith said with a rare smile.

"Faith! Heads' up!"

The dominant triplet turned in time to catch a tube of lip gloss hurled her way.

"Put it on!" Hope ordered, carrying her purse and scripts towards Mercy's car.

"I hate this glossy crap!" Faith protested.

"Put it on!" Mercy said, coming around to where Faith and Charles stood. "It's – what's wrong with Charles?"

"Hmmm? Oh I just told him it's okay – actually, it's _preferred_ – that he date all of us."

"Oh! Good; that will make this easier," Mercy said.

"W-what?"

The red-clad sister leaned in to the dominant triplet.

"Charles gets all hot and bothered over full, pouty lips," Mercy murmured. "I put on chapstick and that's what triggered that near kiss. So we're all going to wear this high-shine gloss until we tempt him into kisses."

"Oh," Faith grinned. "I think I could bear it for that."

"What?" Charles repeated.

"You're so cute when you're bewildered!" Hope announced.

The green clad sister leaned out of the SUV and planted a high-shine kiss on Charles' cheek.


	7. Chapter 7

So. A set of beautiful, curvaceous, identical triplets wanted to play 'Sister Wives' with him. That was . . . ah . . . interesting.

All four of them were packed into Mercy's car, heading south to Santa Cruz. Mercy was driving and bickering gently with Faith, who expressed deep disappointment in her sister's respect for traffic laws. Hope sat next to Charles in the back seat, reading her lines and humming softly. Occasionally, she'd look his way and give him a bemused smile. Maybe he really was becoming besotted, because he was finding the way her chin wrinkled just before she smiled really cute.

'Is it at all possible that this is a trap?' Charles wondered. 'It does feel way too good to be true.'

But what could the triplets possibly hope to trick out of him? As far as they knew, he was a small-time estate lawyer on disability. He had a bland car, he was socially awkward and what could kindly be called 'stoic'; not exactly a combination guaranteed to attract the ladies.

"Uh . . . . can I . . . uh . . . can I ask a question?" Charles inquired.

The triplets stopped their various activities to look at him, Mercy by using the rearview mirror.

"Have . . . ah . . . have you ever done . . . um . . . this kind of thing before?"

"You mean share a lover? Oh yeah," Faith said dismissively.

"It's not that easy to get right, but when it is . . . . . mmmmmm," Mercy purred at the memory.

"It's like, regular boyfriends you have a guy and it's okay and sometimes it goes as far as good, but like, they want to take you away from your sisters and start a family with just them. They're not doing it to be mean or anything; that's just the way they think things should be," Hope said, gesturing. "But, like, when you have one lover for all three, it's like . . . just expanding the family! And family is way better than a boyfriend. God that sounded stupid. Mercy!" Hope prodded the back of her sister's seat. "You're good with words; make that sound pretty!"

"It didn't sound stupid," Charles protested.

She managed to express her point without egregious overuse of the word 'fuck', punching, or getting frustrated and screaming. A few extra 'like's Charles could forgive.

"So . . . ah . . . instead of getting a lover, you get a whole family in the deal," Charles mused. "Ah . . . isn't that . . . ah . . isn't that what the dark-haired Sister Wife says at the beginning of the show?"

"Robyn?" Faith asked.

"The newest one; the one that just had the baby," the disguised manager specified.

"Yeah, that's Robyn," Mercy confirmed.

"Hhhhmmm," he murmured.

'Sister Wives' had become something of a Sunday night ritual for the lot of them. At first Charles hung around for the desserts Mercy made from scratch on Sunday afternoons, then the couch – well, not cuddling, but sitting flirtatiously close had sweetened the pot. When the latter came with the added closeness of feeling the triplets' warmth and smelling that wonderful woman scent it was officially a household activity. Maybe it was an underhanded way to wean him off of the idea of the moral superiority of monogamy, but Charles had endured crueler attempts at brainwashing.

If his experience with the triplets and the model offered by the Browns meshed, then that would mean he would be fully accepted into a household of happy, laughing women. Which . . . didn't sound bad at all.

"It's a real trick to find the right guy, though," Mercy said. "If a guy just wants to be a hub, he usually doesn't care about us as individuals and if he's looking for a lasting, committed relationship, he's weirded out by the idea of polyamory."

"It's a real Catch-22," Faith declared.

"A . . .a hub?" Charles asked.

"If you consider family to be a wheel," Mercy began. "We would be the spokes of the wheel and . . . whoever our mutual lover is would be the hub that joins us."

"Ah . . . oh . . . I see," Charles said. "And you don't get jealous of each other?"

"No," the triplets said in one voice.

"I mean, we have little jealousies," Mercy said with a shrug. "Like I'm jealous of Hope for being so skinny but I don't hate her for it."

"And I'm jealous of Mercy for having big boobs," Hope retorted.

"Gain some weight; you'll get 'em, too," the red-clad sister stated flatly.

Charles's eyes instantly went to Hope's bosom.

"They aren't small," he protested. Then he realized he was staring at her chest. "I – I . . . uh . . . my apologies."

"They aren't Mercy's boobs, either," Hope said sullenly.

Charles cast a look towards Mercy. Now that it was mentioned, he could discern a bit of a size difference between the two sisters, but this was overshadowed by the fact that from this angle he could _just_ see a bit of pink lace skirting the rim of one of Mercy's breasts. They really needed to change the subject or he was going to be in a very uncomfortable position soon.

"The little jealousies extend to our lover, too," Faith offered. "I wouldn't be jealous if you kissed Mercy. I might be a little jealous that she got to go first, but that would be it."

"But even those work out in the end!" Hope said, any sadness over her minutely smaller breasts gone. "Like, Mercy might get the first kiss, but maybe Faith will be the first to make love, or maybe I'll be the first to blow you!"

There was nearly a full minute of silence.

"I mean – I mean," Hope stammered, red to the tips of her ears. "That didn't come out right."

"_Jesus Christ, Hope!_" Mercy wailed. "The things that fall out of your mouth!"

"I swear to God she has Tourette's," Faith growled, rubbing her eyes under her glasses.

Charles opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, realized he still didn't have anything to say and closed it one last time. Then he crossed his legs awkwardly.

Hope buried her hands in her face and turned red.

"W-w-why me?" he finally blurted.

Faith and Mercy peered at him curiously. Hope still had her face in her hands.

"I mean . . . I'm not . . . I'm quite scarred up, I walk with a limp, I'm on disability and feeling leery about going back to work –" A total lie, but necessary for his cover story. "I'm . . . I'm . . . I'm not cool," Charles finished lamely. "You three are beautiful and intelligent and independent. Why are you interested in me?"

"We _like_ you," Faith said simply.

"You're a gentleman," Mercy offered. "You're kind and respectful, and a few scars couldn't mess up that handsome face."

"We're not cool, either," Hope said, finally having come out of her self-imposed silence. "I mean . . . we're dorks, geeks, and weirdoes. The whole town thinks we're strange."

"And stuck up," Mercy injected.

"And lesbians," Faith sighed.

"So if we're all not cool, maybe we could all be not cool together," Hope continued. "You . . . you think?"

Charles stared at him for a long moment. He looked around at Mercy, Faith, then back to Hope. He was a little awkward with intimate relations to start with, but why would . . . how could . . . should he . . . . . he'd never get an opportunity like this again. Odd as it might sound, even if just one of the triplets decided to stick with him after they found out what a raging nerd he was it would be worth it.

"I – uh – I'm . . . . . I'm not really good at things like this," Charles admitted. "But . . . I'd be a fool to not at least try."

"Is that a yes?" Hope asked.

"Ah . . . yes. Let's . . . ah . . . let's make a go of it."

"Yay!" Hope squealed, lunging out of her seat to hug Charles around the neck.

Faith and Mercy exchanged broad grins, but Charles lost sight of anything else because Hope planted a deep, wet, and probably very shiny kiss on his lips. And it was a good kiss, nice and wet and slow and somehow he ended up with a lap full of green-clad cutie-pie. To his amazement, when he surfaced from such a deep and passionate kiss Faith and Mercy were smiling at him.

"How does he kiss, Hope?" Faith asked.

"The beard's softer than I thought it would be," Hope said, running her fingers through it. "Scruffy . . . !"

The triplets laughed as Hope rubbed her cheek against Charles'.

"And everyone's okay with that?" he asked, still not quite believing it.

"I'm fine with it!" Hope declared, to another round of laughter.

"Me too!" Mercy said, wearing a huge grin.

"I might not be," Faith said.

Hope and Mercy looked at her in surprise.

"I want a turn now; move," the blue-clad sister ordered.

Hope laughed and started to shift off of Charles' lap. Half-way off, she looked down in puzzlement.

"Charles, what do you have in your pocket?"

The disguised manager already was rosy of cheek from the long and delicious kiss. Now his blush deepened slightly.

"Ah . . . ah . . that's not anything I have in my pocket," he admitted.

"Oh. Ah. Oh. And that's all – um. That's a little intimidating. Well, we'll jump off that bridge when we come to it," she said, shifting off of him.

"'Intimidating'? Oh, now I'm curious," Faith took off her seatbelt and slid into the back seat.

She plunked herself in between Hope and Charles and gave her new romantic interest a teasing kiss that slowly deepened. Faith didn't wriggle into his lap like Hope did. Her kisses were more leisurely and she stroked her fingers through his beard while they kissed.

"Awww, I figured you'd go for a lap-sit, too," Hope said when they parted. "See exactly what we've got in store."

"I have more couth than you," Faith said firmly. "And Mercy's stuck driving, so you're safe from being pawed at for the moment."

"Lucky me," Charles said with something less than enthusiasm. "If you three keep kissing me like that, you don't have to worry about it going anywhere."

"I want a turn," Mercy said in what was undeniably a whine.

"You're driving," Hope and Faith said flatly.

Mercy's face screwed up into a pout.

"You both suck!"

Charles chuckled. He considered the third sister for a moment, then leaned up out of his seat to kiss her cheek.

"Don't . . . . ah . . . don't worry, Mercy; I'm sure when we stop you'll be able to prevent me from standing for a while too."

"I . . . uh . . . I might paw at you a little bit," she admitted.

"Oh . . um . . . can I paw back?"

"Oh, of course!"

"Then it's all right."

Charles sat back while Faith crawled back into the front seat. Hope snuggled right up against his shoulder.

"I'm glad you decided to give us a chance," Hope murmured.

"I'm . . . I'm glad you thought I was worth a chance," Charles murmured back.


	8. Chapter 8

They reached Santa Cruz in a couple of hours. Faith practically leapt out of the car and ran into the shop. Charles climbed out and stretched his bad leg. For the first time in a long time he was sorry that the weather was too warm for a thick coat. Damn those sexy triplets.

"Problems, Charles?" Hope asked innocently, taking his arm.

"Just ah . . . a little male embarrassment. I don't suppose you could stand right here?"

Charles guided her to stand directly in from of him.

"It's just a temporary measure, but –"

The disguised manager cut off sharply as Mercy came around the SUV and hip-checked her sister out of the way.

"My turn!" she declared.

Mercy threw her arms around Charles' neck and treated him to a long, wet kiss. Faith was a stroke-y kisser; lots of petting and light strokes of her fingertips while she kissed. Hope was a wiggler; she fidgeted constantly, like she just couldn't figure out where she wanted to be. Mercy rubbed; slow, luxurious, sexy rubs up and down the whole body.

Any hope of walking comfortably while keeping his arousal secret was out the window now. Might as well enjoy the kisses. He said as much between kisses.

Hope giggled, leaned against his shoulder and kissed his cheek while Mercy went back to making out with him.

"Eeee! Come look at my baby! She's – oh you guys!" Faith sighed, coming out of the front of the shop. "I don't think we're going to make it to Carmel."

"Jesus, look at this fuckin' guy!" A male voice declared.

Charles and Mercy finally parted. A man was coming out of the shop behind Faith. He was burly, heavily tattooed and looked like every stereotype ever thought up for gearheads. A few other similarly dressed and inked men trailed behind them.

"Whoa! What the hell, honey? You girls that hard up?" One of them called.

"Don't be dicks," Faith growled. "Here."

She handed a check to the first speaker.

"Oh don't tell me you're in on this, too," he said, gesturing to Charles, Hope, and Mercy.

"That's none of your business," Faith declared.

"Shit, she is!" One of the other men cried. "What the hell; look at this guy! He looks like every guy I beat up in junior high."

"He's walking with a fucking cane," another pointed.

"He must be hung like a fuckin' horse," the first speaker surmised.

"Yeah," Hope agreed with a pleased sigh.

Charles felt the blush burn across his cheeks. Mercy pressed her face against his chest and giggled.

"I . . . uh . . . it's . . . ah . . . it's a mystery to me why they . . . . ah . . . why they're so fond of me," Charles admitted. "I ah . . . I'm just enjoying it until they come to their senses."

"Listen to you," Faith said with a shake of her head. "We aren't going to 'come to our senses'."

The blue clad sister leaned in and kissed Charles lightly over Mercy's head.

"HEY!"

Charles jumped from the loud cry, then jumped again as he realized one of the men from the shop had thrown a punch at him. Only someone had caught it. It actually took him a minute to recognize the copper and silver ring on the hand as Mercy's.

Mercy had just caught a punch?

"Is your penis _really _that small?" Mercy demanded. "You were going to beat up a guy because you think he's too nerdy for his girlfriends?"

The man drew back, looking startled. His friends howled with laughter over the fact that he had just gotten intercepted by a woman.

"Really! Maybe if you knew how to behave properly, you'd have a lover of your own!" Mercy continued as though she were scolding a small child.

The man looked sheepish for a moment, then he started to scowl. His anger was over taking his shame.

"Shut up, bitch!" he snarled, seizing her around the throat.

Charles started forward but Faith was there before him, driving her elbow into the man's throat. Mercy put her knee somewhere extremely unladylike and the man went down in a heap. His friends howled with laughter. It was about then that Charles realized Hope was standing in front of him. She was protecting him. All three of the triplets were.

Faith caught Charles' surprised expression.

"Our Dad was a Semper Fu combat instructor for twenty-three years," she said by way of explanation.

"Oh," Charles said dumbly.

So his trio of intelligent, independent ladies was also well-versed in hand-to-hand combat. That was _hot_.

"I did not know that about myself," he murmured under his breath.

"What?" Hope said.

"I . . .uh . . . this . . . this may be an incredibly . . . ah . . . .premature suggestion, but ah . . . what's say we get a hotel room tonight?" Charles posed.

The triplets blinked at him in surprise. The disguised manager felt a blush creep across his face. That was . . . that was probably too soon. But all he wanted was to spend the night – or several nights – exploring the bodies of the three women who professed to be his love interests. The state of his arousal was getting almost painful. He really didn't think it was going to subside without help.

"Okay," Mercy said with a smile.

Faith looked at her sister.

"I'm game," Hope agreed.

Faith gaped at them both as if she couldn't believe her ears.

"Oh come on; you know you want to," Hope said with a grin.

Faith blushed bright pink.

"We'll . . . we'll need provisions," she finally acquiesced.

"Wine," Mercy agreed.

"Brandy?" Charles suggested. "And . . . er . . . protection."

"Something nibbly for dinner," Hope suggested.

"Right. Okay; Charles and I will locate a hotel," Faith said. "You two get us something to eat and drink."

"Sounds good. Um . . . Charles? What ah . . . what size do you take?" Hope asked.

"Oh. Uh. M-Magnums are good."

The triplets giggled, then divvied up into the two vehicles: Charles and Faith in the dominant triplet's Camaro, Hope and Mercy in Mercy's SUV.

After driving around for a while, they located a fairly nice hotel. Faith dropped Charles off at the front door and went to park the car and call her sisters. The disguised manager went inside, not leaning on his cane as much as he'd needed lately. He idly wondered if horniness were any help in healing.

"Ah, excuse me; do you have any open rooms with a king-sized bed?" He inquired.

The concierge nodded and started to type on his keyboard.

"How about one with a Jacuzzi? Like a . . . . uh . . . . a honeymoon suite?"

The concierge glanced up at him with a small smile and started to check him in for the honeymoon suite. Charles filled out the information with a neat hand. He was finishing just as the triplets came in, a few grocery bags in their hands.

"Are we set?" Hope asked.

"Yes, we're all set," Charles said, flashing his keycard.

"You're in luck; the liquor store had Asbach Uralt!" Mercy announced.

"Great. I reserved a room with a Jacuzzi," the disguised manager informed them.

"Ooo, let's go," Faith said with a grin.

Charles fell into step with the triplets. Just before they got to the elevator, he heard the concierge mutter something.

"No wonder he walks with a limp."

* * *

Dinner was a delightful arrangement of shrimp and cheese platters that went well with the wine and brandy and gentle foreplay.

"I hate to ask an awkward question," Charles murmured, his blood warm with brandy, shirt unbuttoned, glasses tucked away for safety. "But . . . erm . . . is this going to be a group activity?"

"Mmmm?" Faith purred, running her hands through his chest hair. "Well, we usually save that for special occasions . . . . I didn't know you had a tattoo."

Charles brushed her hand away from the gear tattooed over his heart.

"That was . . . a different lifetime," he murmured.

"I think this is pretty special," Mercy offered, unbuckling his belt.

"If I can offer an opinion," Hope said, obviously tipsy. "I find _that_ a little intimidating." She pointed to the obvious bulge in the front of Charles' trousers. "And I honestly wouldn't mind a little help from a size queen with a long history of sticking things where they don't belong just to see if they fit."

Mercy straightened and rolled up imaginary sleeves.

Faith burst into giggles and pressed her face against Charles' neck.

"I don't know either of these women," she snickered.

"I – I think I did die," Charles said weakly as Mercy took off his trousers and Faith bent to lick one of his nipples. "Because I might be in Heaven. Didn't think I'd end up there."

Hope laughed. The youngest sister moved around to Charles' head, tipped a little swallow of brandy into his mouth and chased it with a kiss.

"I'll handle this end, how does that sound?" she purred.

Charles meant to say something cute and inviting and maybe sexy if he could think of it, but with a woman on each of his major erogenous zones, what came out was more of a strangled moan.

Later, Charles would wish they had waited until they returned home to consummate their relationship. Not because he would have rather made love to them in their home environment but because he really wished he had video evidence of the first time he had taken on a set of triplets sexually and left them all purring and cuddly and satisfied.

Hell, he would have burned copies of it and released his own sex tape posthumously just to prove he was that fucking virile. It would be a little awkward when the triplets saw it, but he was sure they'd understand if he explained.

. . . . _fuck_ yeah, he was a **MAN**.

Wait . . . he should be doing something now besides wallowing in self-satisfaction . . . oh yeah; talking.

Charles looked to his right, where Mercy was curled against his side. Yes; Mercy was the most stereotypically feminine sister; she'd obviously want the old 'talk and cuddle'. What . . . ah . . . what were you supposed to say in these situations?

"Well . . . ah . . . that was incredible," he murmured.

"Zzzzzzzzz," Mercy answered.

"Ah. Hope?"

Hope was face down on the far side of the bed.

"MmmmMMph?" she inquired.

"Fuck yeah," Charles muttered, grinning wolfishly.

"Feeling proud of yourself?" Faith inquired in a raspy purr.

"I think they'll have to chisel this smile off of my corpse when I die," Charles admitted.

Faith grinned broadly and pillowed her head against his chest.

"Weeeeeell, you do have the right to be proud. We're pretty voracious. There's not a lot of men that can keep up."

"I didn't even know you could have an orgasm when you weren't hard," the disguised manager continued. "That's what Skwisgaar's secret is. Has to be."

Faith was silent for a moment. Charles could feel her parting his chest hair gently. He didn't realize _where_ she was doing it until she spoke again.

"You used to work for Dethklok?"

Turned out there _was_ something that could take the smile off of his face.

"How can you even think now?" Charles asked. "I'm hard put to remember my full name."

"What is your full name?"

Putting a puzzled look on his face, the disguised CFO rolled to face the dominant triplet.

"You ah . . . you _know_ my full name, Faith."

"I don't know your middle name," she said.

"It's Oliver," Charles said without hesitation. "After my great uncle on my father's side. What's yours?"

"Akira."

It made sense that the triplet's Japanese heritage would show up here and there, however . . .

"Isn't . . . ah . . . isn't that a boy's name?"

"It can be either," Faith said.

"What does it mean?"

"'Intelligent'," she informed him.

Despite the close call of his hidden past, Charles had to smile.

"It suits you. What's Hope's middle name?"

"'Chiharu' it means 'A thousand springtimes' and Mercy's middle name is 'Hisako', it means 'child of an old story' and she hates it," Faith reported.

"Why? It's pretty."

"She says it doesn't make any sense."

"Neither does Hope seeing a thousand springtimes."

"Good point. I don't think it will sway her though," Faith continued. "So you used to work for Dethklok."

"Are we back to that again?" Charles asked.

"We are," the dominant triplet said. "It was very slick the way you changed the subject, though."

"Look," Charles sighed. "I used to work for Dethklok. Everyone sees the big, burly Gears with the hoods and that's all they think is in Mordhaus. But Dethklok needs legal teams and medical services and janitors and cooks just like everyone else."

"Isn't Dethklok cursed?"

"Ah . . . yes. A shocking amount of employees die just from simple, stupid accidents. Normal people slip in the hallway and sprain their ankle. A Klokateer slips in the hallway and four people die." Charles heaved a deep sigh. "You wish you could quit and work somewhere normal, but there's no quitting Dethklok. Not unless you get caught in that terrorist attack and your heart stops on the way to the hospital and you get declared legally dead."

"Oh my God . . ." Faith murmured. "Well, your friendship with Bernard suddenly makes more sense. What are you going to do now?"

"Start over. I'm going to rest until I'm whole again and then . . . start over." A smile creased the CFO's scarred face. "Maybe I'll have a family this time."

This coaxed a smile from Faith. Charles pulled her close to him and kissed her forehead. They snuggled down together and fell into a deep sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Charles woke up to the sound of his cell phone going off. Stiffly, he crawled to the edge of the bed and grabbed the device.

"Hello?"

"Sir, you haven't checked in or been spotted in the area for twelve hours. Do you require assistance? The extraction team is ready to go."

"Bernard?"

Charles took a long, slow look around the thoroughly destroyed bed. A broad grin creased his face as the events of the previous night came back to him.

"I had so much sex last night," he announced.

There was a pause on the other end of the phone, then Bernard chuckled.

"Congratulations, sir. The boys and I had faith in you. Who's the lucky lady?"

Charles took another look around, noting that the bed was strangely empty – but he heard soft conversation from the adjoining room and the smell of coffee tickled his nose. The promise of a hot cup of joe kicked his higher brain function into gear and he turned his attention back to the phone.

"What were the odds?" He asked.

"Sir?" Bernard said innocently.

"Innocence is ridiculous on a – a man of your talents, Bernard. What were the odds?"

Bernard sighed, grumbled something to someone in the background and Charles heard the rustle of paper.

"It was 2-1 for Hope, 4-1 for Mercy and 10 – 1 for Faith," Bernard reported.

"Hope only got 2-1?" Charles echoed. "Does she seem slutty to you?"

"Oh, no, not slutty!" Bernard protested. "Just . . . . um . . . fun. So it was Hope?"

"And Faith got 10-1. Does she seem frigid to you?"

"Ah . . . ah . . . no, she's . . . ah . . . c-classy," the Gear quickly amended. "So Faith then?"

"Did the boys factor in any combinations?" Charles asked, trying to keep his 'stern' voice in place.

"Combinations?" There was a long pause. Hesitantly, as if he feared offending his boss, Bernard continued. "There's . . . . . there's a 50-1 chance you could get Hope and Mercy."

"So nobody figured out the odds of all three of them being overcome by my charms and tumbling into bed with me in a hedonistic orgy of sensuality?"

" . . . . . . . . . . no, sir."

"That's a shame, I would have liked to have known the odds," Charles said. "Is four an orgy? What are the number requirements?"

Dead silence from the other end of the phone.

"Well, if there's nothing else, I owe a gorgeous set of triplets breakfast," Charles said lightly.

"Sir?" Bernard squeaked.

"Yes, Bernard?"

"I want to be just like you when I grow up."

Charles finally gave in to the grin that had been fighting to surface.

"Good luck," he told his employee.

Charles hung up the phone just as Hope popped her head into the bedroom.

"Oh good, you're awake!"

There was just something about a woman still rumpled and bed headed, rosy of cheek both fore and after and wearing only Charles' white button down. Jesus Christ, he was a lucky bastard.

"Good morn – ahhhh!"

"Charles!"

The disguised manager curled up on the floor around his aching knee. It had felt a little stiff when it woke, but it wasn't until he tried to put weight on it that the overworked joint let him know exactly how it felt about last night's sex-a-thon.

"I'm all right, I'm all right," he protested. "I just overworked my knee. Ouch . . . I need my meds."

Hope put one of Charles' arms over her shoulder and helped him to stand.

"I'll get your cane; it's in the other room," Hope stated.

She started to pull away, but found Charles wasn't in a hurry to take his arm from around her shoulders.

"You're beautiful," he told her.

Hope blushed and giggled, but before she could reply, Charles pulled her forward into a kiss. The pair kissed gently for a few minutes, then pulled apart only just enough to be considered not kissing.

Charles tilted his head slightly.

"Did . . . ah . . . did . . . last night, did we . . ?"

"I went to sleep _very_ happy, Charles," Hope assured him.

"Yes, but . . . we didn't actually . . . I'll make it up to you tonight," the disguised manager promised.

It may have been his imagination, but for a moment, Hope's smile got an edge to it, as though it was being forced to remain on her face.

"We got room service for breakfast!" she stated in a chipper voice, leading Charles into the other room.

Mercy and Faith were perched on chairs around a small table loaded with pancakes, eggs, and bacon. Both sisters were swaddled in fluffy hotel bathrobes, hair loose and tousled. Goddamn, they were gorgeous. He was a lucky, lucky bastard!

"Good morning, ladies," he said with unaccustomed gusto.

"Good morning, Charlie!" They sang back in one voice.

There was a long pause.

"D-Don't ever do that again," Charles said, pulling out a chair for himself.

The triplets howled with laughter.

"Don't ever what? Do the 'Charlie's Angels' thing or just call you Charlie?" Faith asked, pouring him a cup of coffee.

"Both, preferably," Charles said. "I've haven't gone by 'Charlie' since I was in grade school. And back then they always prefaced it with 'Checkpoint' which really drove home the unpleasant feelings."

"Your nickname was 'Checkpoint Charlie'?" Mercy echoed in disbelief. "Why were you named after a crossing point in the Berlin Wall?"

Charles fidgeted, then tried to distract himself by loading his plate with pancakes.

"I – I . . . uh . . . was . . . something of an . . . uh . . . early bloomer and . . . . I uh . . . . I liked to look at girls' legs," he admitted. "I didn't even know why I liked to do it at the time, but . . ah . . . there was this . . . this gate off the school grounds and I'd run there as soon as the bell rang and . . . uh . . . wait in the bushes for the girls to walk by. _Somehow_ the girls at school became convinced I was trying to . . . ah . . . look _up_ their skirts instead of just ogling their kneecaps. Because of that little miscommunication, they decided I was a creep."

By this time Faith had her face buried in her hands while her shoulders shook with mirth.

"In time it became tradition to try to sneak past the gate and one of the more politically savvy girls likened it to sneaking through the Berlin Wall. I believe it was her father who made the 'Checkpoint Charlie' joke."

"Poor baby . . ." Mercy crooned, trying not to laugh.

"So no more Charlie references?" Hope asked, pulling up a chair.

"Please, no," Charles sighed.

"Fair enough," Faith said, chuckling.

Charles sighed in bliss and lifted his cup of coffee to his lips. The TV was on behind Faith and the familiar set-up of 'The Dethklok Minute' caught his eye. He tilted his head to check how the boys were doing in his absence—

-and nearly swallowed his tongue when his picture was plastered across the screen.

Why was his picture on the Dethklok Minute? He never made the DM when he was alive, why were they flashing his face around when he was dead?

The triplets took a look at his face, then, as one, turned to look at the television.


	10. Chapter 10

Faith looked back at Charles, her expression calm.

"Did you want to hear it?" She asked.

Without waiting for an answer, she picked up the remote and turned up the television.

"I would not have pegged you for a metal head," Hope stated with a chuckle.

Charles paused. No one was going to point out the fact that the Dethklok Minute was showing his picture? Sure, the picture they were showing was Charles F. Offdensen, ruler of Mordhaus and the triplets knew him as Charles O. Stonebreaker, gentlemanly estate lawyer, but –

Charles straightened for a minute. He cast a look at the large mirror hanging on the wall. Sure, the man looking back at him was rumpled and bed headed, but – and bearded; the beard did change his appearance more than he thought. He wasn't wearing his glasses, either. He was more tan than his 'official' picture thanks to his long walks back in Arcata and his hair looked lighter, again thanks to long exposure to the California sun. He really didn't look like Charles Offdensen anymore.

This was a good thing if the media was going to start flashing around his picture. Note to self: get contact lenses.

"You know, I could never figure that guy out," Mercy said as the narrator gave a brief run down of Offdensen's untimely – and apparently gruesome – death.

"Ah . . . what do you mean?" Charles asked.

"He was supposed to be this big financial genius; he could have done _anything_," Mercy said, pausing to sip her coffee. "Why did he waste it on Dethklok?"

"Maybe . . . ah . . . maybe he believed in them," Charles said, trying to keep his voice level.

Mercy shrugged.

On screen, Murderface explained that they wouldn't be hiring a new manager: it was just too soon.

"Awww, looks like the feeling was mutual," Mercy said. "It's kind of sweet that they were so attached to the guy they won't hire a new manager."

"They're going to manage their own money now?" Faith said. "Hoo boy . . ."

"This oughta be good," Hope said with a wicked chuckle.

Charles was torn between picking up the TV and shaking it while yelling: 'YOU IDIOTS! I already had my replacement picked out!', being secretly touched that the boys wouldn't replace him, and giving the triplets a piece of his mind.

"You . . . ah . . . you're looking forward to watching them fail?" he managed to ask.

"Well . . . maybe not 'looking forward' to it," Hope said. "But . . . I mean, it's gonna happen with their manager gone."

"_I'm_ looking forward to it!" Mercy said cheerfully. "I have to explain to my kids everyday that what Dethklok does doesn't work for everyone else. It will be good for them to deal with some consequences for their behavior."

Charles wasn't sure if Mercy meant it would be good for the children to see Dethklok getting their comeuppance or if it would be good for Dethklok to get their comeuppance. He supposed it didn't matter.

"When you put it like that . . ." Hope said grudgingly. "I play piano so much that I've had carpal tunnel surgery on both wrists and I'm still working local weddings and school plays. Murderface plucks his G string with his dick once and makes more money than all three of us will ever see in our entire lifetimes."

"Charles used to work for Dethklok," Faith announced.

'Oh God, don't point that out, honey,' Charles pleaded in the privacy of his own mind. 'I can't believe nobody noticed that I'm Charles Offdensen, but you three are sharp cookies and someone's going to start putting two and two together.'

Hope and Mercy looked at the disguised manager in surprise.

"He's probably met the band before and everything," Faith pointed out.

Mercy looked uncomfortable as she realized she had been slamming people Charles knew personally.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "I'm sure they're very nice in person. But celebrities are so successful and smug sometimes it's fun to watch them fall."

"They're gonna have to invent a new word for 'celebrity trainwreck'," Hope announced.

"It's more than money, too. Offdensen protected them from a lot. I can't wait to see what happens when Skwisgaar's eighty bazillion children figure out his demon lawyer is out of the way."

"Paternity waivers," Charles said instantly. "Those women signed off beforehand that they would not seek to legally prove that any band member was the father of their child."

"Think they're keeping up with those things with Offdensen gone?" Hope asked.

"They damn well better be!" Charles said more hotly than he intended. "S-sorry. I mean . . . as hard as . . . uh . . . . Mr. Offdensen worked for the boys –"

"What a disgusting idea," Mercy growled.

"Mercy . . ." Faith began.

"It's disgusting that someone sat down and wrote up a legal document absolving Dethklok of any and all responsibility for children they helped create!" the school teacher snapped. "And most of them came from broken homes! You think they'd understand what it was like to grow up missing a parent!"

"I . . . uh . . . I have to concede that last point," Charles admitted. "But . . . . Mr. Offdensen was just protecting the band. That's what he – what he did."

"They should sterilize those sluts as they walk out the door," Mercy snarled. "Anyone who would spread her legs for anything as stupid as fame doesn't need to be reproducing."

"Strangely enough, we couldn't get those contracts through legal," Charles said. "The Skank Patrol practically hoses them down with spermicide before they leave, but I guess life finds a way."

Mercy shuddered and took another sip of her coffee.

"Hate people that abandon their children," she growled.

This seemed to be a sticking point. In fact, Faith and Hope had gone very quiet as well. It suddenly occurred to Charles that while the triplets' house was liberally sprinkled with pictures of their father and every few hours one of them spouted the phrase 'Daddy always says . . .' he'd never heard them mention their mother.

Eager to get the subject off of Dethklok, Charles made an educated guess.

"How old were you when she left?"

The triplets blinked at him owlishly.

"Who?" Faith asked, cementing the image.

"Your mother."

Silence reigned. Hope picked listlessly at her eggs. Mercy glared down into her coffee cup, as if she wanted to either cry or attack and couldn't decide which. Faith looked . . . Faith suddenly looked very tired.

"I'm . . . I'm sorry, you don't have to—" Charles began.

"Five," Faith said. "We were five years old."

"Sometimes she'd go out at night when Daddy was deployed," Mercy said, scratching at the design on her coffee cup as though trying to pick it off. "She said we were big girls and we could stay home by ourselves."

"She's always say 'Now don't tell Daddy!'" Hope offered.

Charles didn't like the direction this was heading.

"One night, she went out and . . . . never came back," Faith said softly. "We . . . . just carried on. Went to school, made sandwiches and soup for dinner, took our baths, did each other's hair. . ."

"How long were you alone for before someone noticed?" Charles asked.

"After a week we ran out of food, so Faith called the MPs," Mercy said.

"The dispatcher actually . . . huh . . . she actually tried to blow us off at first," Faith recalled. "Tried to tell me my Mommy would be home soon and I shouldn't play on the phone. It wasn't until I said we were out of food that she actually asked how long we'd been alone."

"They came to the house with the sirens and lights on and everything," Hope offered.

"Daddy came back from Turkey the next day," Mercy said.

"Oh my God . . . ."

"It wasn't that bad," Faith protested. "We weren't hurt or starving or dirty or anything. It actually hurt worse that . . . she was gone for good."

"After a few weeks Daddy went back overseas. We got to go live with Grandma Chieko in Japan," Mercy said.

"We didn't speak Japanese," Hope said.

"We stayed with her for about five years, then Daddy got transferred to England and we got to stay with him again," Faith stated.

"At which point we'd almost forgotten how to speak English," Hope chimed in.

"I think we were in England for . . . three years? And then we went to Germany for two," Mercy continued.

"Then we came back to the States," Faith said.

"Well, it was Hawaii; that's almost the United States," Hope offered.

They'd been bounced around from pillar to post, losing not just any friends they'd made along the way, but the whole culture they'd become acquainted with. No wonder they were so close; their sisters had been the only constant thing they'd had growing up. No wonder they wanted to stay together. No man could even think of prying them apart. The best a guy could do was allow that happy sisterhood to fold around him. It wouldn't do to be Faith's boyfriend or Mercy's lover or Hope's friend-with-benefits, you had to be prepared to be part of the Noh family or nothing.

Charles stood and walked between Mercy and Faith's chairs. He took their hands and coaxed them to stand, gesturing for Hope to do the same thing. Once on their feet, Charles gathered the triplets up into a bear hug and squeezed them as tightly as he dared. They hummed and cooed as the group held each other warmly.

"I . . . uh . . . I never had much of a family," Charles admitted. "Not – not like you three. That house is so happy and . . . and . . . alive. I was always just settled for . . . ah . . . mere existence. But I have to say Noh family is . . . is . . . much better than none at all."

There was pause.

Faith groaned.

"That was payback for the Charlie's Angels thing, wasn't it?" she asked.

"We almost had a very sweet moment, there," Hope giggled.

"I thought so, too, but then someone . . . ah . . . grabbed my junk," Charles announced. "So I went for broke."

"That was me; sorry," Mercy murmured.

"You're still doing it, I notice."

"Sorry," Mercy repeated with a big smile. "It's just such a handful!"

"You wake him up and you'll have to play with him until he gets tired," the disguised manager warned her.

At this point Hope pulled out of the group hug and turned back to her breakfast.

"Sounds good to me," Mercy hummed.

"My pancakes are getting cold," Faith stated, returning to her own plate.

Charles didn't acknowledge this, just turned his attention to the woman gently caressing his most intimate area. Said intimate area was already rising to the occasion.

"Would you care to join me for a shower, Miss Noh?" he inquired.

"I would love to, Mr. Stonebreaker," Mercy purred.

Charles put his arm around her shoulders and led her back to the hotel bathroom.

One very extended shower later, Charles dressed and helped his ladies dress. They packed up their things and checked out of the hotel room. Faith offered to let Charles ride back home in her car. As they buckled themselves into the classic muscle car, the dominant triplet gave Charles a sideways look.

"Did you have to wear a hood?" she asked abruptly. "When you worked for Dethklok, I mean."

"Ah . . . all Gears have to wear hoods," Charles answered. "Even Legal."

"Huh, well, it's probably for the best," Faith said, checking her mirrors.

"What . . . ah . . . . what do you mean by that?" Charles asked.

"If anybody had seen how much you looked like Charles Offdensen, they would have pulled you to play double for him!" she said, pulling out into traffic.

Charles had a very good poker face. It was a good thing.

"It . . . ah . . . wouldn't have been such a bad gig," he allowed.

"Well, when the Revengencers stormed Mordhaus, they probably would have killed you, too, just to be sure they got the right Charles," Faith pointed out. "They might have killed you _instead _of Offdensen."

"Well . . . . ah . . . that might have been better. I mean! With Offdensen dead, Dethklok might fail and that would cause the worldwide recession to be even worse!" Charles amended quickly at the sharp look Faith gave him. "So . . uh . . . greater good and all that."

The disguised manager wasn't sure how to categorize the long look Faith kept locked on him. 'Intense' was a good one, but he wasn't sure it what it was so intense about.

"Fuck the world," the dominant triplet announced in a surprisingly soft voice. "I'd still rather have Charles Stonebreaker."

Faith had to look back to the road rather than hold Charles' gaze, but the disguised manager stared hard at her for a long while. Given the choice, she'd rather have him – and not rich and powerful him, but weedy little geek him – than the world be in a thriving economy? Faith was the one who managed the money, so she knew how important that was, but she still wanted Charles to be part of the family.

Charles Stonebreaker.

Of course, he wasn't Stonebreaker, but she didn't know that. He almost felt sorry that she hadn't figured it out. Some little part of him wanted to tell the triplets the truth of who he was. He wanted to believe that it wouldn't matter to them.

But.

They had to stay in the dark for the same reasons he had to change his appearance and take on a moniker. Their ignorance was their safety. One day he'd tell them. And when that day came, Charles could almost believe it wouldn't matter to them. They could all be one family, be it Noh, Stonebreaker, or Offdensen.

Charles leaned in and kissed Faith gently on the cheek.

"You make me wish I was better at those kind of words," he said.

"Actions speak louder anyway," Faith said with a small smile.

"You're driving; we'd both be killed."

"True!" Faith laughed. "I guess it can wait until we get home."

"Yes. Let's go home."


	11. Chapter 11

Charles followed Hope back to her bedroom door. He'd been in a relationship with the triplets for nearly two weeks now. Mercy and Faith took turns hosting him in their rooms, but Hope never had. While he could make out with the youngest triplet to his heart's content, once things started to progress to foreplay, Hope found an excuse to back out. In fact, while Charles had been in a romantic relationship with three women he had only been in a sexual relationship with two of them.

"Hope," he murmured softly.

The youngest triplet half-turned, her hand still on the doorknob. Without another word, Charles leaned in and kissed her. He kissed her long and deeply, gently pushing her back into the bedroom. A few tiny squeaks that might have been protests escaped her lips, but she didn't break the kiss as Charles shut the bedroom door behind them.

Faith peered out of her own bedroom door. She met the eyes of her sister Mercy, who was peering down the stairwell.

"Well? What do you think?" Faith asked.

"I think he'll step up; he's one of a kind," Mercy said with a smile.

"Mmmmmmmm," Faith murmured. "It worked with Charlie, but he was a seventeen year old boy. He was lucky to get anything."

"Have faith in our man," Mercy said. "I think we'll be sleeping alone tonight."

* * *

In the youngest triplet's bedroom, Hope suddenly extracted herself from Charles' grip.

"Charles . . . I don't . . . I mean . . ." Hope stammered.

"What's wrong? You can tell me," he said.

Hope sighed, looking down at the floor. Charles caught her chin in one hand and tilted her face upwards.

"I don't like seeing my bubbly girl so sad," he told her. "Tell me what's wrong so I can fix it."

"You can't fix this," Hope informed him.

"Ah . . . wanna bet?" Charles challenged, coaxing a smile from the youngest triplet.

"I love you," she said without preamble. "And I love being with you, holding your hand, kissing you, touching you . . ."

Hope put deed to word as she went down the list, cuddling her face against Charles' hand and kissing his palm.

"I sense a 'but' coming," Charles said. "And not the completely adorable kind."

"But . . . . we can't make love," Hope sighed. "You're . . . too big."

"Ah. I still fail to see why we can't make love."

"Charles, seriously! I know what I can handle and it's not much to start with and . . . . I mean . . . it _hurts_!"

"So I can't penetrate you?"

"No . . ."

"I still don't see why we can't make love."

Charles wasn't sure if he was amused or sad to see Hope look so puzzled. It shouldn't have taken her so long to realize what making love meant.

"When I was just a young lad first making forays into . . . ah . . . . into the sexual world, I . . .uh . . . I actually encountered this problem a lot," Charles said, sitting on the end of Hope's bed and pulling her down next to him. "I figured out various methods to . . . ah . . . 'ease the way', but there were certain young ladies who . . . ah . . . who simply couldn't accommodate . . . ah . . . _me_. I met a very wise lady who said that everyone knew penises came in different sizes, but only a few people realized that the same was true for vaginas."

"So I'm pitifully endowed," Hope sighed.

"That same lady told me that as long as everyone had a good time, it didn't matter if penetration occurred. If I just wanted to get off, I could jack off in the shower."

"Or spend the night with Mercy," Hope interjected.

"I want to make you feel wonderful," Charles continued smoothly, ignoring this. "As long I can leave you rosy-cheeked and happy, I . . . uh . . . I am completely cool with not being able to penetrate you."

"Really?" Hope said.

"Really. We'll . . . uh . . .probably make a mess of your sheets, though," Charles conceded.

"Even though you could just go down the hall to Mercy's room and . . . . jump on in?"

Hope was starting to perk up about the subject, but the continued reference to Mercy and her preference for large things was irritating Charles.

" . . . First of all, I don't just 'jump on in'," he stated. "Mercy's my little size queen and trust me, I appreciate it but I want all three of you to be happy. What kind of man would I be if I neglected you because our genitals weren't compatible?"

Hope cooed and leaned in to kiss her lover tenderly.

"You are the best, Charles! The sweetest, most caring, most loving we're not talking about anal, are we?"

"Ah, no," Charles said firmly. "I'm pretty open sexually, but just no."

"Okay, good. Most guys . . . once they hear the main event is closed down—"

"You are the main event," Charles corrected. "All of you; every inch of Hope Noh."

For a while, they merely kissed; hands straying across their bodies feeling and petting. Presently, they moved upwards to lie properly on the bed. Bodies were caressed and clothes were loosened. Both of them sat up to put their glasses out of harm's way at the same time. Before Charles could lie back down, Hope grabbed the back of his shirt and tugged it over his head. She was back in his arms almost instantly, kissing his bare chest and tracing her fingers over his scars.

"Hope, don't."

"I'm sorry; do they still hurt?"

"No," Charles answered. "They're ugly. I'm ah . . . . I'm trying to forget that they're there."

"They're not ugly," Hope protested.

"They are," Charles sighed. "I . . uh . . . I used to model when . . . when I was a kid. I always took real good care of my body."

He looked down at the livid scars on his torso and sighed. Hope snuggled up to him.

"I didn't know you then," she admitted. "So I don't see these scars as something ugly marring your skin. I just see them as a part of you. And I think you're great the way you are."

Hope pushed him back onto the comforter and kissed and nuzzled her way down his chest. Those plush lips traced tingling trails across his belly. The hair on his chest and stomach – a bit too much hair, he'd always thought – picked up the sensations of when Hope even drew close to him. It was such an erotic feeling, he'd sworn off waxing or shaving long ago.

Charles plucked open the buttons on her blouse and slid his hands inside her bra. There was nothing quite like that feeling. Cupping those sweet orbs inside their supports of lace and satin, dipping your hands into the cups, the lace rough and scratchy against the backs of your hands, while the softest thing that ever existed filled your palms. . . How was it even possible such soft skin could hold flesh and blood together? It was only rivaled by the sensation of sliding your hand inside a pair of panties. Hope shed her blouse and bra, the cheap cotton and rayon sliding off of her freckled shoulders. She wasn't dark skinned by any stretch of the imagination, but in the dim light of the bedroom, her skin glowed with sun-kissed beauty. Still kissing Charles, she reached for the zipper of his pants.

"Ah! Wait; do you have any lube?" Charles asked.

"No . . . I thought you said—"

"No penetration; I know. It will still help. Hang on, I'll be right back."

* * *

Mercy was a bit disappointed when Charles knocked on her bedroom door. The triplets were extremely close and they had known of Hope's difficulties with sex early on. How ironic that they were identical triplets, but Hope couldn't really have normal sex, while Mercy had a hard time finding cocks large enough to satisfy her. Charles had been a real godsend. But, she had hoped – when they were kids, their shared boyfriend Charlie had been satisfied with heavy petting, but he was a seventeen year old boy. At that age, he was lucky to be having any sexual contact at all.

"Mercy, love, I had to . . . ah . . . ask this . . but . . . ah . . . do you have any lube I can borrow?" Charles asked, poking his head into the room.

Mercy blinked. He wasn't here to stay? He just wanted to borrow lube? Oh. Oh! That was great!

"Y-yes! Hang on just a second," she instructed.

Mercy's 'toy box' was in her bedside stand. It had been neglected in the past two weeks, but it still contained several bottles of lubricant. Mercy picked one at random and gave it to Charles.

"Th-thank you. Ah . . . this is a little awkward . . ." He was silenced by a quick kiss.

"I'd be more disappointed if you left Hope alone tonight," Mercy announced. "We're freaks; we want everyone to be happy."

"I'm glad; I love you freaks," Charles announced with a grin.

He kissed Mercy once more and went back downstairs with his prize.

* * *

When he returned to Hope's bedroom, the youngest triplet was completely naked. She had stripped the comforter off the bed for greater traction, lit a candle, and now lay sprawled across the sheets.

"What a sight," Charles hummed. "Knew I had to get this before we got too much farther or I wouldn't have been able to make it upstairs."

"You would have done whatever you have planned for me without lube?" Hope teased.

"Hey, the lube's for me; you'd be fine without it."

Hope snickered and sat up on her knees to undo Charles' pants. As the slacks fell to the floor, the triplet bit her lip. Charles' boxer briefs were already failing to contain his excitement; the head of his cock was pushing up past the waistband.

"Good God," Hope murmured in amazement. She gently liberated the straining organ from its prison of cotton and elastic. "I don't have to be afraid of this, right? It's not going to hurt me?"

"Never," Charles promised hoarsely. "I'd never cause you pain."

Any words were lost as Hope lowered her head and started to love him with her mouth. Those luscious lips were just as talented at oral as a man could imagine. And her hands . . . she certainly didn't leave the rest of him alone. The thought occurred to Charles that incredible blowjob skills were probably how Hope had kept boyfriends before him.

"Ah . . . easy . . . easy, I don't want to come yet," Charles pleaded, backing away slightly.

They tumbled together on the bed, mouths wandering and caressing bare skin. Charles tried not to pull away when Hope licked and kissed his scars and Hope tried not to flinch when his cock came too near her womanhood. Gradually they both relaxed. Charles scooted down on the bed until he could bury his face between her thighs. He licked and sucked, feasting on her sweetness until Hope arched up off of the mattress not once but twice.

It wasn't until she lay panting and sated that Charles finally reached for the bottle of lube. Hope squeaked when he gently coated the inside of her thighs.

"I'm sorry; is it too cold?"

"I . . . no, it's just sensitive. What are you . . .?"

"Press your legs together," Charles instructed, gently pressing her knees together and down. This done, he poured more lube in his palm and slicked it over his cock.

He lay down over Hope, fitting himself into the gap at the top of her thighs.

"Like that?" she asked, shivering as she felt him slide between her legs.

"Y-Yes . . . very good for incom-incompatible sizes. Also for horny teenagers who don't want to risk pregnancy."

"Mmmm, that's nice," Hope purred.

"Oh, we-we can do better than nice," Charles changed his angle, pressed Hope's knees together tighter with his own and was rewarded with a sharp cry. "There we are. There we are. Oh yes . . . Hope!"

Any observers – say through hidden bugs – would have simply seen a couple making love in one of the most mundane positions imaginable.

But Hope was having the most intimate sexual experience of her life; something she thought biology had cheated her out of. Charles was fulfilling this need; teaching her that sex didn't have to equal pain. He was doing the ultimate job as a man: satisfying a whole harem of women with all of their quirks and foibles and different needs.

Fuck yeah, he was a _man_.

With a grunt and a strangled cry, Charles came all over the sheets. Hope shook and quivered beneath him in her own orgasm, then they both collapsed panting.

"You . . . you weren't kidding about making a mess on the sheets," Hope panted.

"Hmmm . . . . don't worry; a gentleman always sleeps in the wet spot," Charles said, leaning up on his elbows.

They shared a low chuckle, then kissed gently.

"So . . . what did you think?" the disguised manager prompted.

"That was the best I've ever had," Hope stated calmly.

Charles beamed.

"I never get tired of hearing that," he all but purred.

"Who else tells you that? Have you been cheating on me?" Hope teased, humor thick in her voice.

"Constantly," Charles announced. "There's this school teacher named Mercy Noh – you might have heard of her."

Hope giggled, pressing her hand against Charles' face in a mockery of a slap.

"And a gearhead who owns an import business named Faith Noh. That seems to be a pretty common name around here."

Charles rolled to the side to give Hope more air.

"Ewww; I did make a mess," he observed.

"You sure did," Hope announced. "We could go sleep in your bed."

"We could do that, couldn't we?"

"Then nobody would have to sleep in this lake you made."

"That's brilliant," Charles observed. "How did I wind up with such intelligent lovers?"

* * *

Faith opened her door a crack and watched Charles and Hope leave her bedroom and head upstairs to Charles' rented room. Faith had heard their vocal lovemaking and now heard them giggle and whisper endearments as they headed upstairs.

To any normal woman this might have been a sign of jealousy. In truth, Faith felt a storm of emotions.

Foremost was joy. Charles hadn't balked at Hope's little handicap; he had taken it in stride. He had fit in. He might be the one.

Behind that was doubt. They had thought Charlie was the one, too. They were going to graduate together, buy a house in Niihau, and raise a passel of children in a pocket-sized polygamous compound. One summer away from Charlie had ruined all of that.

Then there was the worry that Charles was hiding something.

The fact that he worked for Dethklok had to be pulled from him like a bad tooth. It wasn't illegal to quit Dethklok. Word on the street was the company actually had excellent employee benefits and resignation packages, so why would it be such a big secret that he quit there?

Faith had a hunch and it wasn't one that she liked.

But everyone was so happy together! Hope was happy, Mercy was happy, Faith was happy, and she had to assume Charles was happy. Mercy had even probed Charles with the gentle opening question of 'Do you like children?'

And Charles had given her that look that said he knew exactly what she was asking and calmly admitted that he did like children.

They were all so happy together. They could be a family if she could just let go of that last, lingering doubt.


	12. Chapter 12

White Oak Elementary was bustling with activity for a Saturday. Mercy had been tagged to coach second grade basketball. Charles was puzzled by this, thinking that a gym teacher would have been a better choice. When he said as much, Mercy gave him a dark look and muttered: "We don't have a gym teacher anymore."

The economy was biting down and the government's first cut was to the future generation. Not the best idea in Charles' opinion but the government was accomplished at stupidity.

Mercy had left early that morning, as had Hope. Charles went to the music store the youngest triplet worked for and picked out a new guitar. He purchased a new Gibson Les Paul Limited Edition. The five hundred dollar price tag (plus amp and pedals) made Hope raise an eyebrow, but Charles assured her he could afford it.

Leaving the green-loving triplet to start her piano lessons, Charles picked up lunch at a local restaurant and took a club sandwich down to the school for Mercy. He'd double back and bring Hope her order, but at that point the school was closer.

The gym doors were wide open to let in the cool spring air. Charles followed the hollow echo of bouncing balls and was greeted by the sight of a bunch of eight year olds running around and attempting to shoot baskets. In fact, there seemed to be several teams' worth of kids and about five teachers – two female and three male.

Charles picked Mercy out quickly. While her shorts weren't overly tight or short, the way she filled them out commanded attention. Charles made his way around the outside of the gym. He almost didn't need his cane anymore, but it was helpful for stairs. After the quad had returned from Santa Cruz, he'd gotten contacts and made an effort to dress more casually.

"Ah . . . Mercy? Can I come on the floor in these shoes?" Charles asked.

Mercy looked around and smiled at him, then came over to the edge of the floor. She didn't hug or kiss the disguised manager – they had decided it was better to keep their relationship under wraps. But she did give him a big grin and a warm smile.

"Charles! Hi, how are you doing?"

"Great, I . . . uh . . . brought you a sandwich," he stated, offering her the bag.

"Thanks! I can't quite break yet, but I appreciate it."

"Who's your friend, Mercy?" the other female teacher asked.

"Oh, this is Charles Stonebreaker; he rents the spare room in our house. Charles, this is a friend of mine, Amber Palmer."

"Nice to meet you," Charles said, shaking the woman's hand.

"Nice to meet you, too," Amber said.

"MIZ NOH! Juan's travelling again!" a little boy screeched.

"Juan, you have to bounce the ball when you run," Mercy called over her shoulder. "Thanks for the sandwich, Charles. Will you be home this afternoon?"

"Yes, after I . . . ah . . . deliver Hope's lunch I'll take Faith hers."

"Great; see you later."

Charles gave her a wan smile as she turned away to see to the kids. Keeping a new romance secret kind of sucked, he reflected. He would love a quick kiss or a hug. Or a light grope in those shorts; whatever struck his fancy.

Amber was looking at him oddly, so he shook himself out of his reverie.

"Ah, Ms. Palmer? Where's the nearest men's room?" he asked.

"Oh, the boys' bathroom at the end of the gym is the only one open right now," the teacher answered, pointing.

Over the doors at this end of the gym was the announcer's booth. A set of concrete steps led up to them and also accessed the bleachers running the length of the gym. At the other end, the booth shape was mirrored with a pair of restrooms, also at the top of a flight of concrete steps.

"More stairs," Charles sighed. "Thank you, Ms. Palmer."

"No problem."

Charles walked around the edge of the gym, still not sure if his boots were acceptable attire. Probably not. The stairs gave him a little trouble; there wasn't a railing to lean on so the disguised manager really had to use his cane. He finally made it into the bathroom and was rewarded with a line of gleaming urinals . . . hung at about knee height.

Well, it was an elementary school; it made sense that the urinals would be lower. How was he supposed to use them? He supposed if he just aimed straight down . . . . no, too much of a splash risk. He could try kneeling. His bad knee, already protesting the stairs, corrected him sharply.

"I'll just use a toilet," Charles muttered to himself, going into a stall.

While he was in there, he heard three men come in – must have been the male teachers.

"I seriously do not get paid enough to do this crap," one announced. "I don't know how to teach basketball!"

"Hey, at least we get to watch Mercy run around in bicycle shorts," a second offered.

Charles smirked to himself as he finished up. That certainly was a perk!

"Meh; too much junk in the trunk," the first speaker offered.

And some men had absolutely no taste, Charles reflected. He took his cane from the hook on the back of the door. The disguised manager opened it just in time to hear the third teacher state: "Mercy Noh is a _whore_."

Charles froze for a second.

'Keep cool,' he thought to himself. 'You're only supposed to be her friend, not her lover. Friends don't attempt to split open random assholes' skulls with their canes.'

Offdensen gritted his teeth and made his way over to the sinks. The three teachers eyed him, but decided he wasn't a threat.

"Ah . . . . that's kind of harsh, Joe." The second speaker – now revealed to be a tall thin man with big ears – stated.

"You guys only dated for a couple of weeks," the first speaker – a shorter, stocky black man – observed. "Did you catch her cheating on you?"

"Oh, I never _caught_her," Joe spat. "She had too much practice for that."

"So . . . what made you think she was cheating?" The second guy asked.

Joe flicked water from his hands and sneered.

"There was exactly _zero_tread on the tires, if you know what I mean," he said. "Like throwing a hotdog down a hallway."

The other two teachers exchanged a look that said they didn't quite believe that and even if they did there had to be a nicer way to say it.

"I . . . ah . . . I suppose if you're trying to fill a hot dog bun with a cocktail wiener it can cause frustration . . . but it's very low-class to blame the bun."

Charles wondered who said that for about half a second. Then he realized it was him.

"Listen, buddy, if you ever took her for a ride—" Joe started.

"I _have_," Charles growled. "And I've never had the problem you're describing. Therefore I'm forced to assume the problem is with you, not her." So much for that secret! What happened to keeping cool?

"Who's this guy?" the stocky teacher muttered to the thin one.

"His name's . . . uh . . . Charlie something," the thin one answered. "He rents a room from Mercy."

"That's not all he rents from her," Joe spat.

Charles' knuckles were white.

"Mercy Noh is a responsive, sensitive, passionate lover with a hair trigger when it comes to orgasms. If you couldn't satisfy her, you have never – nor will you ever – satisfy a woman in bed. Please do the female gender a favor and kill yourself."

Charles stormed out of the door, letting the door swing wide.

The thin and stocky teachers yelled at the same time. The stocky guy screamed: Jesus, Joe! What the hell? The thin one howled: Look out, Charlie! That was all of the warning Charles got before Joe's hand slammed into his back and pushed him forward. Even as he started to tumble, the disguised manager managed to twist and grab the teacher with his right hand, dragging Joe down with him. At the same time, Charles brought his cane around in a punishing blow to Joe's face. He heard wood crack before the concrete steps slammed into his back, knocking the breath from his lungs.

The impact rung Charles' bell more than he thought because the next thing he knew he was lying across a bleacher bench. The tall thin teacher was crouching next to him, telling him to lie still in case he had a spine injury. Charles lifted his head slightly. His bad knee was aching like a bastard and he had a few bumps and scrapes, but otherwise felt fine. He must not have fallen very far. Joe was still curled up in a private world of pain around his face. The stocky teacher was standing over him in case he tried anything else.

"Joe, what the hell? You pushed a cripple down the stairs, Joe! What is _wrong_with you?"

"What _happened?_" Mercy was running up the stairs two at a time. She knelt by Charles' bench. "Charles what _happened?_Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

"Mercy . . . I uh . . . . I may have let slip about our relationship," Charles admitted.

Mercy froze for a second.

"I . . . uh . . . I told these gentlemen that you and I are intimate."

Mercy unfroze. Admitting to a relationship with one sister – while not great – was still okay.

"And you started a fight with Joe?"

"He didn't start it," the tall, thin teacher stated. "Charlie made a cutting remark and tried to walk away. Joe pushed him down the stairs. And if someone called my girlfriend a whore to my face, I wouldn't have the guts to just walk away."

"Joe called me a whore?" Mercy echoed.

"I . . . uh . . . I might have implied he was a micro-dicked loser whose greatest contribution to the pleasure of womanhood would be suicide," Charles admitted. The disguised manager realized he was still gripping his cane. He lifted it up and the bottom half fell off. "I broke my cane."

"You broke it on Joe's face," Mercy corrected. "You belted him pretty good."

"The police and ambulance are on the way!" Amber reported.

The thin teacher got up and moved over to help Joe, who was starting to sit up. Blood covered his face. Most of it seemed to be from his nose, which was crushed, but parts of his cheek and eyebrow were swelling up and turning unpleasant colors.

"Look at the blood!" a child squealed in delight.

"He killed Mr. Hampton!" A little girl wailed, starting to cry.

"He's not dead, stupid! He's sitting up!" another girl corrected her.

"Steve, Adam, you keep these two apart," Mercy said. "Amber and I will ride herd on the kids and start calling parents."

She went back down to the gym floor and started calming the students down. The wail of a siren echoed through the building. EMTs walked in and made their way up to the bleachers. After a few preliminary questions – Can you feel your hands? Do you feel dizzy or nauseous? Where does it hurt? – the paramedics decided Charles could wait and took Joe into the ambulance first. As they wheeled him across the floor, a few of the kids slipped away from Mercy and Amber and climbed into the bleachers.

"Are you Miz Noh's boyfriend?" One girl asked.

"My dad says she's a lesbian," a boy reported.

Charles sat up slowly and gave the boy an odd look.

"Why would your father say Mercy is a lesbian?" he asked the boy.

"Because she only lives with other ladies," he answered.

"Well, that's a good indicator, but it doesn't count when the other ladies are her sisters."

"Why did you beat up Mr. Hampton?" the first girl asked.

"Mr. Hampton started it," Charles stated.

"Mr. Hampton was probably like: Maaaaaaaaaaan, Miz Noh's booty is _kickin'_and he was like: Yo dawg, tha's mah girl! And Mr. Hampton was like: Tsssht; not if I can steal her! Step up! And ol' boy was like:" the boy started flailing blindly at the air, making noises like he was fighting someone.

"Close enough," Charles said with a chuckle. "Mr. Hampton did start it, though."

"Why would you want to look at a girl's butt?" the first boy wondered.

"Trevor, man, you're only eight," the second boy sighed, patting his friend's shoulder. "Wait until you're nine like me; then you'll understand."

"You're weird, Jordan," Trevor announced.

"What? Miz Noh's booty _is_kickin'."

Jordan looked to Charles as though seeking support.

"She does have a kicking booty," he admitted.

"Watch out, he'll beat you up like he did Mr. Hampton!" Trevor teased.

Jordan immediately put up his fists as though preparing to fight Charles.

"No, I . . . uh . . . I don't have to . . . ah . . . worry about losing her to you," he said with a smile. "I'm taller and I have a car."

The three kids laughed at this.

"AND he's got a leather jacket," Trevor added.

"And green eyes," the little girl observed in a strange tone of voice.

She hopped up onto the bleacher beside Charles. He couldn't help but notice a certain sparkle in her eyes.

"I'm Kristin," she announced. "What's _your_name?"

"Ah . . . . . it's . . . ah . . . Charles," the disguised manager admitted grudgingly. "Charles Stonebreaker."

"That's a cool name," Trevor and Jordan said in the same voice.

"Kristin, Trevor, Jordan!" Amber called. "Come down here so we can call your parents!"

The kids grudgingly left Charles, waving goodbye. Mercy was coming across the gym floor trailing a police officer. Great; he really didn't need his assumed identity to come under official scrutiny. Not that it wouldn't hold up, but it was just more stress than he needed.

"Hello there, sir. My name is Officer Reynolds. I'd like your take on the incident. Please start at the beginning."

"Ah . . . w-well, I stopped by the . . . ah . . . school to bring . . . ah . . . Mercy her lunch. I . . . uh . . . wanted to use the bathroom before I uh . . . left. So . . . uh . . . I went into the boys' room." Charles gestured to the facility.

"Are you nervous, sir?" The officer inquired, looking up from his notes.

"He always stutters," Mercy cut in.

"Not . . . ah . . . not that badly," Charles protested.

Mercy smiled and sat down next to him, taking his hand.

"Please continue, sir," Officer Reynolds prompted.

"Well . . . ah . . . I was in a stall and I heard the three male teachers come in. They were complaining about having to coach basketball and . . . uh . . . the tall, skinny guy . . . I didn't catch his name."

"That's Steve," Mercy said. "Steve Carlshalten."

"He – he said that watching you run around in . . . ah . . . those shorts . . . helped matters a lot."

"He's married! I'll tell his wife," she said in amusement.

"That's when . . . ah . . . Joe said – called you a whore. You . . . ah . . . you don't need to know exactly what he said, do you?"

"Yes, sir, we do," Officer Reynolds said.

Charles looked over at Mercy. He really, really didn't want to repeat those words to her face, no matter how baseless and untrue they were. Officer Reynolds picked up on this.

"Ma'am, could you give us a minute alone? Please?"

Mercy reluctantly left the two men and headed back down into the gym to help with the kids.

"Uh . . . the . . . ah . . . . Joe apparently dated Mercy before we met. He said she was a whore because . . . ah . . . um . . . . 'no tread on the tires'?"

Officer Reynolds raised an eyebrow.

"His exact words were . . . ah . . . 'like tossing a hot dog down a hallway'?"

"Ah-ha, so she's loose."

"She is not!" Charles said hotly. "Some people just have different sized genitals! I, for one, need a woman with more capacity than average! And she's so sensitive I can make her orgasm without going below her waist! If that bastard couldn't satisfy her, he – that was way more information than you needed."

"Just a little," the police officer said, fighting back a smile. "So, he called her a whore, said she was loose, you gave him an earful on her behalf . . ."

"I told him that . . . ah . . if he couldn't satisfy Mercy, he'd never satisfy any woman, ever and suggested he kill himself as a favor to the fairer sex. Um . . . I think I called him a thumbdick at some point, too."

"And then what happened?" the police officer prompted.

"Well, I stormed out of the bathroom and . . . ah . . . started down the stairs and . . . ah . . . I heard the other two teachers yell. Ah . . . Joe pushed me forward, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him down with me and . . . ah . . . hit him with my cane."

"Your cane? You walk with a cane?"

"Yes, I . . . ah . . . I was in an accident a few months ago and . . . ah . . . my knee still isn't up to ah . . . . scratch."

"You already walk with a cane and he pushed you down the stairs?"

"Yes. But . . . ah . . . I broke it." Charles lifted the shattered end of his walking stick. "It might have been on his head."

"Huh. Well, Mr. Stonebreaker, the paramedics have already taken Mr. Hampton to the hospital. I would very, very, _very_strongly suggest you go, too. I'll just need your contact information."

"I'll go, but I'd rather call a friend to take me rather than an ambulance."

"Fair enough, sir."

Charles handed over his phone number and address. He called Bernard to pick him up and take him to the hospital. Parents were just starting to arrive to claim their children when the press arrived. Okay, it was one reporter and a camera man, but that was pretty good for a small town. Mercy came over and sat beside him again.

"So what exactly happened?" she asked.

Charles sighed roughly.

"That jackass called you a whore, I told him to go fuck himself because that's the only way he'd find a willing partner and he pushed me down the stairs when I tried to leave."

"Really? That's not like Joe at all. So the whole secret thing didn't pan out?"

"My apologies, I just . . . ah . . . went a little apeshit when he said that."

"What happens if you hear someone say something bad about Hope or Faith?"

"I'll be more prepared for it next time. I _wanted_to bash his skull in when he first said it, but I'm glad I waited. Now I look like the brave, innocent victim telling off the big, able-bodied bully."

"You poor, helpless thing," Mercy said with a grin.

"Since the cat's out of the . . . . ah . . . bag, I don't suppose I could have a kiss?"

"I think that would be all right," she purred, leaning in for a slow, sweet kiss. They were still kissing when the reporter approached them.

"Hi! I'm Gail Campbell from Channel 8 News. Are you Mercy Noh and Charles Stonebreaker? Can I have a few words?"

"I dunno," Mercy said. "Do we want to be in the middle of this?"

"You can't steer publicity if you aren't in with the press," Charles said. "What's the planned bite?"

"Ah . . . Local Teacher Attacks Handicapped Man at School Function," Gail stated.

"Wow. That could only get better if it included the words 'Naked' and 'On fire'," Charles observed.

"So you'll say a few words?" Gail said.

"Hmm; 'handicapped' am I?"

"Well . . . uh—"

"I was injured, but I'm healing. I'm pretty sure that's not the same as handicapped."

"So that isn't your car in the handicapped spot out front?" Gail asked.

"That's a temporary sticker," Charles retorted.

"So are we doing this?"

"I'll let you run the story with the handicapped tag intact IF you'll stress the fact that this wouldn't have happened if White Oak hadn't fired all their gym teachers. If not, I'll go public with the fact that I'm only temporarily incapacitated."

"Joseph Hampton actually was fired for the next school year," Gail stated.

"Put that in, too; it will generate a lot more feedback."

"Do you work in Public Relations?" the reporter asked admirably.


	13. Chapter 13

Charles' phone trilled for attention. The disguised manager looked at the caller ID, made an exasperated noise and silenced it.

"Channel 8 again?" Faith asked. "You must have really impressed the station manager."

"I don't want to work there," Charles sighed. "You think he would respect that."

"You're a very desirable man," Faith said. "That's why I kidnapped you today, so you can run away and be _my_boyfriend."

The disguised manager looked over at the eldest triplet, who was driving her beloved Camaro south towards San Francisco. In the month since the incident at the elementary school, Charles and Mercy had emerged as the newest couple in town. Charles was glad of the fact that he could kiss and hug one of them in public, but he felt guilty about heaping affection on Mercy while ignoring Faith and Hope.

The disguised manager put his hand over Faith's on the steering wheel.

"I am sorry," he said. "I feel bad about leaving you two alone in public. I'm not doing very well at this polyamory thing, am I?"

Faith gave him a warm look.

"Charles, it's not easy to juggle three lovers. We know that. And the public affection . . . that isn't your fault. It's society's fault for not accepting our way of life."

"Maybe . . . . ah . . . maybe we should run away to . . . . ah . . . Syria and get married. I know a guy who lives there."

Faith snorted.

"Would they let me drive? I'm not going to any country that won't let me drive."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Charles chuckled.

The pair continued their leisurely drive, making good time to San Francisco. They picked up a few boxes of collectible plush toys from Japan and loaded up the Camaro before stopping for lunch.

Charles was sure to keep up the public affection while they were out on a day trip. He'd have to make up for lost time with Faith. By the time they were back on the road heading home, the eldest triplet had been kissed and hugged and kissed enough to leave her smiling and blushing. The smile stayed on her face until they were about half-way home. Faith was stopped at a red light when a neon-green car pulled up next to her and revved it's engine.

Faith tightened her grip on the steering wheel and snuck a sideways look at the vehicle.

"Acura Integra," she declared. "Modified to the sky."

The Integra revved it's engine again. Faith mangled her lips together in a tight, thin line.

"What's the matter?" Charles asked.

Before Faith could answer, another gaudily-painted car pulled up on the passenger's side and revved it's engine.

"Subaru Impreza," Faith whimpered. "Probably stock. Still fast as hell."

The two young men driving the cars were exchanging challenging looks through the Camaro's windows.

"I am a mature woman," Faith announced. "A grown-up. I don't get into drag races anymore. Mercy would kill me if she had to bail me out of jail."

Sudden understanding washed over Charles. Faith wasn't uncomfortable because she was scared of the other drivers. She was scared of losing. Apparently she'd been read the riot act by her sisters enough to know she wasn't a fool kid anymore. It was . . . well . . . it was like seeing the boys thrashing through a set and knowing your own glory days on stage were dead and gone. Charles instrument was a guitar while Faith played a muscle car.

They were retired race horses still tensing for a sprint when they heard the bugle. It was a bit sad. It wasn't the sort of thought you should have in the grips of a new love. The two Japanese cars revved their engines. Faith looked as though she wanted to cry.

"Do it," Charles suggested.

Faith looked over at him sharply.

"You can take them," he goaded. "American muscle car against two . . . two rice rockets? Do it."

The engine of the Camaro roared a challenge to the other street racers. The two young drivers looked startled.

"You're a bad influence," Faith said with a grin. "If Mercy has to bail us out of jail, this was all your idea."

Another car behind them revved it's engine in an offer to play. Charles didn't even get to glance back to see what it was when the light turned green.

Tires screamed and smoked as the cars took off, roaring down the highway. Faith lagged behind the other two for a second, then accelerated in a steady roar of eight cylinders stretching their legs.

"Choke on that, you idiot little teenagers!" Faith howled over the thrum of the engine. "Crappy little rice rockets are probably stolen!"

The Acura lagged back as the Camaro and the Subaru vied for first. Faith glanced in her rearview to revel in her glory.

"Oh shit! It's the cops!" She squealed.

Charles looked out of the back window of the Camaro and caught the distant flicker of red and blue lights.

"I haven't been arrested for drag racing since I was a teenager!" Faith groaned.

Charles turned back around to face the road. He hadn't ever been arrested for drag racing.

"Quick! In there!" He said, pointing.

Faith slammed on the brakes and screamed around the corner into a park entrance. She pulled up into an isolated parking spot and shut off the Camaro.

"Okay. You think the cops will buy the fact that we just decided to pull over and park here in a classic muscle car?" she asked.

"Lay your seat back. We'll be a couple resting on a road trip. That will explain why the car is hot. If the police question us, we can say these crazy kids were all over the road so we decided to pull over and nap."

Charles pulled his glasses off, hung them on the visor and laid his seat back. Faith mimicked his actions and tried to look as though she were resting comfortably. After a moment, she giggled.

"I can't believe I decided to drag race with those punk kids," she murmured.

A little smile wrinkled her lips and she looked over at Charles.

"You make me feel like a kid again."

Charles couldn't help but return her smile.

"I don't think I felt like this when I was a kid," he admitted. "I was too busy studying."

"I was a hellion," Faith admitted. "Your mother probably warned you about girls like me."

"Well . . . . yes, but not for the reason you're thinking."

"Nobody was good enough for Mrs. Stonebreaker's little boy, huh?"

Charles paused. Lately, whenever one the triplets mentioned his assumed moniker, he felt this little twist in his heart . . . like he felt bad about lying to them. Well, he did feel bad about lying to his ladies. But there wasn't a whole lot he could do about it.

"Well . . . no, not exactly. My mother wanted me to marry for money and connections. Anyone who didn't have one or the other wasn't worth the effort."

"That's horrible," Faith said. "I can kind of understand, though. She just wanted you to have the best. My dad had a very strict timeline for our lives and . . . grandchildren were scheduled seven years ago."

"'Scheduled'?"

"Yeah. Hope was still playing the field, and I had a boyfriend but not a serious one. Mercy had a relationship that was on the outs. Daddy kept pressuring her to get pregnant and I finally said 'Daddy, they're going to break up! If Mercy has Jake's kid, she'll be stuck with him for the rest of her life and be miserable.'"

"And?"

"And he said . . . 'So? Life isn't about being happy'. And I was like . . . wow. Thanks, Daddy. Glad to know you're willing to sell out your daughters for some grandbabies."

"I'm sorry," Charles murmured, laying a hand over Faith's. "I take it you don't talk to your father much anymore."

"Nah, not since procreation dropped off the priority list. Women are supposed to get married and have babies. The end. No arguments. Definitely no Option C."

"So, if he found out about our little arrangement, he wouldn't be pleased?"

"He'd try to kick your ass," Faith said. "And I should mention he was a combat instructor in Semper Fu for twenty years."

"I'm not scared. Bring him on," Charles stately firmly.

"But the last time you got in a fight . . . "

"You three are worth it," the disguised manager said.

Faith grinned and leaned over to kiss Charles. They kissed leisurely for a few minutes.

"My mother might have warned me about you, but I still would have chased after you if I had met you as a kid," Charles murmured, pulling away just enough to speak. "A woman who carries herself with such composure and can turn around and handle a muscle car like that? It's very arousing."

"Oh yes?" Faith purred, running a hand down Charles' chest. "How arousing is . . . oh."

"Mmmmmmmm, yes, _that_arousing," he confirmed.

They kissed with more passion, adding strokes and gentle gropes. Somehow Faith ended up in Charles' lap. The make-out session deepened. Clothes loosened, windows steamed, and Charles was contemplating his first bout of car sex since college.

Rather, he was contemplating it right up until a police officer tapped on the window. Faith yelped and tried to stuff herself back into her blouse. Charles quickly deposited his paramour back in the driver's seat. He covered the bare essentials on himself and slid out of the passenger door.

"Ah . . . ah . . . ah. . . sorry about that, officers!" he stammered, buttoning his shirt.

The two cops took a look at Charles, looked over the car and looked back to Charles again. Obviously something was off about the combination.

"How old are you?" the younger officer wondered out loud.

"Uh . . . I'm . . . I'm thirty-nine," Charles stammered. "I apologize again; we were driving up the coast and these kids were all over the road, so we . . . ah . . .ah. . . we . . . decided to pull over and rest and . . . ah . . . we . . . ah . . . . ah . . . . . . . . ah . . . . . _d-didn't_."

The other police officer, who was closer to Charles' age, peered in the Camaro's back seat. He saw the import plushes destined for sale to Faith's customers. Not being a Japanophile, he didn't recognize the brightly colored balls of stuffing as collector's items. He just saw a backseat full of toys. The lady in question got out of the car and slipped around to Charles' side.

"Aren't you two a little _old_for parking?" the younger officer sneered. "What if some kids wandered by and got scarred for life watching old people sex?"

"Old?" The other officer repeated.

For the first time, the young officer looked hesitant.

"Oh . . uh . . . not you, Petty! Just –"

"Just wait until you have a house full of kids, Dupree! If you even manage to still want your wife at that point, by the time you get the kids into bed you're too tired to do anything. The best you can do is sit them in front of a Barney video and run to the bedroom! After you do that for a couple months, you get a hard on every time you hear a Barney song."

Faith slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the snort. Charles snaked an arm around her waist and tried to hide a smile in her hair.

" . . . a _Barney_song?" the younger officer echoed in horror.

For a moment, Charles thought about what it would be like to have a house full of children. Of course, they would wait until he was back on top of his game, so there would always be Gears around to watch the children while he had . . . The thought trailed off as Charles realized that even if he stayed in Podunk, California for the rest of his life, he would never have that problem.

_His_children would always have 'Auntie Mercy' or 'Auntie Hope' to watch them while Mommy and Daddy had alone time. Or, conversely, 'Auntie Faith' could watch his and Mercy/Hope's children. That made so much more sense than cultivating a sexual Pavlovian response to singing dinosaurs. Why exactly was this monogamy thing so popular again?

Also, he had just considered having children with his lovers and he didn't recall ever having done that before.

"Clear out of here, folks. And keep it in your pants until you get home," the older officer ordered.

"Thank you!" Charles said quickly ushering Faith back to the driver's side. "Thank you very much, officers!"

The pair piled back into the car and drove (cautiously) back onto the road under the watchful supervision of the two police officers.

"Oh my God, I can't believe we got out of that!" Faith sighed.

"You were very quiet," Charles observed.

"That disarming stutter of yours was working so well I didn't want to jinx it," Faith admitted. "They were not expecting a pair of business-suit wearing adults to spill out of the car!"

"And we learned more than we ever wanted to know about child-rearing," Charles chuckled. "_Our_children won't ever have to worry about being babysat by television; they'll always have at least two aunts around."

Charles expected an agreement or even a crow of triumph for polyamory. Instead, Faith got very, very quiet. Charles looked over at her. Faith was staring at him.

"Uh . . . . ah . . . . I . . . uh . . . . I should have . . . um . . . do . . . do you want children?" the disguised manager stammered.

Faith only tore her gaze away from Charles to drive safely.

"I . . . I . . . uh . . . I had kind of given up on having kids," she admitted. "I . . . I mean. Mercy's heart would be broken if she weren't the first one to be a mom."

"Do you want children?" Charles asked again.

A blush slowly worked it's way across Faith's cheeks and nose.

"If the father is a good one," she whispered.

Charles considered this carefully.

"I'm – I'm just happy," Faith cut in again. "Um . . . because you're planning on sticking around. I like that you're thinking about starting a family. Um. I'm glad you want to stay with us."

The displaced CFO stared at one of the women who had stolen his heart. Six months ago he never would have considered having a relationship with more than one woman at once, but damn if it didn't work. He wasn't about to disparage a system that worked so beautifully. Faith was wonderful. He loved her. He'd happily have children with all three of the triplets.

But.

He had to go back to Dethklok eventually. Even though he had to go back that didn't mean he had to give up his ladies. Mordhaus could be a good . . . well, he could see to it that there was a section made safe for his ladies . . . and any buns that might be in the oven.

"If I have to leave for a little while on business, don't give up on me, Faith," Charles said. "I have to go back to work eventually, but I'll make arrangements. You three are too . . . too . . . this is going to sound cheesey, but you're all too wonderful to give up."

"Charles, you are . . . . . . ." Faith shook her head briefly, her mouth open in disbelief. "If the damn law wasn't against us, I know my sisters and I would all be happy to be Mrs. Stonebreaker. And . . . and . . .and . . . and I'd have your children, Charles."

Charles drew in a deep breath as he stared at the wonderful, wonderful woman driving. Damn the law; he'd happily make them all Mrs. Stone – no, he'd happily make them Mrs. Offdensen. They were jewels in this cheap, petty world: pearls cast before swine in the most blatant way possible. Charles's hand found it's was to Faith's knee.

"I . . . I don't mean to sound like a pig, but can we finish when we get home? I have this unspeakable urge to go carnal on you. I'd do it right now but I think we might both die horribly."

Faith laughed.

"Try and stop me!" she declared.

When they finally pulled into the driveway, they ended up making out in the car for ten minutes before collecting themselves enough to head inside. The words 'collecting themselves' were misleading enough; they staggered through the front door half undressed and locked together at the lips.

"I . . . mm . . don't . . . think . . . . mmmmm . . . . mmmmm. . . we'll . . . mmmm . . . . make it upstairs," Faith gasped.

"Mmmm . . . couch," Charles growled, deftly unbuttoning her blouse. "Mercy 'n' . . . mmm . . . Hope won't mind."

He barely got a grunt of consent before he lifted Faith awkwardly and rushed her to the couch. The dominant triplet bounced for a second, then wrenched Charles' shirttail out of his pants.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Mercy appeared behind the couch.

"Uh . . . guys?" she squeaked.

"Sssssh; trust me, Mercy, Charles really deserved to be fucked right now," Faith blurted, unzipping his trousers.

Mercy turned red to the tips of her ears.

"Guys . . ."

Charles grabbed the red-clad sister and subjected her to a deep, probing kiss. He did this while Faith licked and sucked a trail down from his navel. Holy shit, what an incredible experience! No wonder Skwisgaar only had sex in groups now!

"Mercy, darling, I promise I will do unspeakable things to you tonight," Charles growled. "But right now is my time to go caveman on Faith."

Mercy was still red as a beet.

"We have guests," she whimpered.

The hot tongue wriggling it's way down his happy trail stilled. Mercy's blue eyes rolled desperately to the right. Charles followed her gaze.

Bernard and two other unmasked Gears were sitting in the living room with cups of tea in their hands. Charles stared at them. They stared at him.

"Oh . . ." Faith whimpered, zipping up his trousers.

"I think it could wait just a minute," Mercy offered.

"No."

Everyone present looked surprised at the guttural snarl that tore from Charles' throat.

"No," he repeated. "They can wait. Faith, we're going upstairs and I am going to knock the bottom out of you."

Charles pulled Faith to her feet, slung her over one shoulder and disappeared up the stairs. Mercy watched them go, then slowly turned to the three men.

"M-more tea?"

By the time Charles staggered back downstairs, Hope had come home and Bernard and the other Gears were working on an early dinner.

The disguised manager nodded to the three men, snagged Mercy as she headed to the kitchen and gave her a kiss on the neck that bordered on hickey-making.

"Charles!" she squealed. "Th-they . . . we have guests."

"It's all right; they know," the disguised manager sighed. "I'm in a relationship with the three most gorgeous women on the planet; I had to tell someone!"

Mercy swatted him, but couldn't protest the broad grin on Faith's face as she staggered downstairs with her hair ruffled and cheeks rosy.

"Sir, we've located Jomfru," Bernard announced.

Charles thought he stopped breathing for a moment.

"W-where?"

"In a homeless shelter in Pennsylvania. He's been taken into custody and he's currently located in Philadelphia. There's a jet waiting at the airport for us."

"Right. Pack a bag," Charles snapped.

One of the other Gears loped up the stairs. Charles knew without having to check he was packing all the essentials in a small bag. Charles turned to Mercy, kissed her, moved on to Faith, then finished with Hope, who had just come down the stairs.

"I love you, I'll be thinking of you, I'll be back in a few days," he announced.

"Charles, what's going on?" Hope asked.

"If you accept no answer, I won't find it necessary to lie to you," Charles said, hugging her.

The unmasked Gear returned with a small suitcase. The other two leaped to their feet.

"Thank you for dinner, Miss Mercy," Bernard said politely.

"You have a lovely home," said another Gear with studs through the bridge of his nose.

"I'll call you," Charles said, handing out another round of kisses.

Before the triplets could query the situation any further, the men rushed out the door.

"What the hell just happened?" Hope asked.


	14. Chapter 14

"Destroyed . . . I am the destroyer. I've destroyed all I love. Destroyer. I am the destroyer. I destroy all I love . . ." Edgar Jomfru kept up the litany of chanting over and over again.

"He's been like this since you found him?" Charles asked.

They stood in a safe house in Philadelphia, observing the wayward genius through a mirror.

"Yes, sir. We've given him a bath, treated his wounds, given him food. He seems to function well enough, he just keeps repeating that over and over."

"Does he know we're with Dethklok?"

"I don't know, sir. He obeys commands, but doesn't give any sign that he's listening to people around him."

"I see."

Charles left the small room behind the two-way mirror and walked in to join Jomfru. The previous months had not been kind to the man; he was much thinner, loose skin hanging off of him in folds. Scabs and fresh scars told of a hard life on the streets where there were no electric wheelchairs – or wheelchairs at all. The disguised manager knelt before the man's chair (only a slight twinge from his bad knee) and listened to his repeating chant for a few minutes.

"So, you . . . ah . . . destroyed everything you love," Charles surmised. "So what are you going to do about it?"

For the first time, Jomfru stopped his mumbling and raised his head.

"I hear your voice in my nightmares," he announced.

"Well . . . ah . . . I'm sure a lot of people do," Charles said pragmatically. "But the question remains: what are you going to do about it?"

"You're dead."

"I'm not, actually. As . . . ah . . . proved by the fact that I'm here, talking to you."

Jomfru considered this.

"My brother is dead."

"That . . . ah . . . is something that can't be rectified, unfortunately."

"Mordhaus has fallen."

"We raised it up again."

"Dethklok's empire is collapsing."

"Not ah . . . entirely. It may shrink a little, but I won't let it fall."

For the first time, Jomfru really seemed to focus on Charles.

"If you help me keep Dethklok going, we can change the world," the manager announced. "I can . . . I can teach you how to create instead of destroy, Edgar. Would you like that?"

Edgar went still. As Charles waited for the answer, he didn't get the impression that Jomfru was still trying to absorb what had happened. He got the impression that the wayward genius was considering the situation from every angle.

"Yes," Edgar said eventually. "I – I want to . . . . . _help_."

The way he breathed the last word made Charles think Jomfru had never actually helped anyone before. Instead of pointing this out, the manager patted him on the shoulder in what he imagined was an encouraging way.

"Good. Do you . . . . ah . . . like whales, Edgar?"

* * *

"What's the band's current status?" Charles asked, looking over the bank of computer screens in front of him.

He was in the converted attic in the safe house. No windows would let people peep through, so the room was filled with computer and communications equipment. A group of Gears clustered around him, ready to fill the boss in on various situations.

"Generally behaving like white trash with money, sire," Klokateer 175 announced.

"How much of a dent have they made in the dummy fund?"

"It's been depleted by 85%, sire."

"Damn! Already? All right, keep the backup dummy fund ready. Pay the utilities and the grocery bill and they can just suffer for anything else," Charles said.

"My Lord, our spies at Crystal Mountain say the label is going to try to renegotiate Dethklok's contract now that you are out of the picture," a second Gear said.

"Roy wouldn't do that!" Charles protested.

"He's been ill, sire. The driving force behind the move is –"

"It's his idiot fucking son, isn't it?"

"Just as you say, My Lord."

"Keep an eye on the situation."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Sir Offdensen?"

Charles sighed under his breath. The only time anyone called him by that title or thought he was a knight of anything . . .

"What is it, Father?"

Father Bludforge of the Black Church stood in the doorway.

"It has reached our ears that you have started a 'relationship'."

The dark priest said the last word like it was sticky and slightly gross. Charles could hear the quotation marks slamming into place.

"Actually, I've ah . . . started three. That reminds me; Gear, get me a landline I need to check in with my . . . ah . . . ladies."

Bludforge pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"I am relieved to hear that you've taken a harem rather than allowed yourself to be entrenched in a traditional relationship," the priest said slowly. "But saying that you need to 'check in' leads me to believe it isn't so simple."

"You don't know anything," Charles stated.

Hot, awkward silence filled the room, spreading around the Gears who were suddenly doing their jobs as quietly as possible.

"If, ah . . . if you are interested in breeding purposes, Sir Offdensen, there are several daughters of the Church who have been deemed worthy to carry your seed –" Bludforge began.

"I don't want to fucking _breed_," Charles snarled. "I want a goddamn _family_."

"That's – that is—"

"Not metal. I'm aware. Where's my landline?"

A Gear came forward with a regular phone, offering it to the CFO. Charles picked it up and immediately began dialing.

"Now is a very bad time to be distracted, Offdensen," Bludforge announced.

Charles turned and fixed the priest with a glare.

"I don't have to be here," he announced.

He didn't say anything else. He didn't need to. Charles watched the color drain from Father Bludforge's face. There was no way they could replace him at this point in time. Even if they found another protector, he couldn't simply step in and take over in mid-swing. The Church needed Charles as badly as Dethklok did and Bludforge knew it.

"Noh residence."

Charles' face relaxed into a smile.

"Faith," he breathed.

"Charles! I didn't recognize the number!"

"I'm on a landline," the manager said, feeling the tension melting out of his shoulders. He sat down on a nearby wingchair. "I really needed to hear your voice."

Bludforge and the Gears stood nearby, watching.

"Do you mind? This is a private call," Charles said, covering the receiver with his hand. Reluctantly, the priest and most of the Gears withdrew from the room.

"My Lord, the box is hot," one said, pointing to his computer.

"Mine as well, sire," a second Gear said, mimicking the action.

Charles knew there was no way to get them to leave just so he could talk to his girlfriend on the phone. Even if the house caught fire, those two wouldn't move without being formally relieved by another Klokateer.

"You two are fine," he said.

Both Gears put their headphones back on. They wouldn't be listening in.

"Everything all right?" Faith asked.

"Oh, just a lot of bullshit," Charles said. "I can't wait to get back home."

"We miss you," the eldest triplet said.

"I miss you, too."

"Was this what you meant by 'going away for business'?"

"Ah . . . . no. I didn't expect this. And I'll be back in a few days. When I go back to work for real, it might be a couple of months."

There was silence from the other end of the line.

"You . . . you'd wait on me for a couple months, wouldn't you?" Charles asked.

"Of course we will. It's just . . . . . where are you?"

"Um . . . . Philadelphia."

"What are you doing there?"

"Uh . . ."

"Can you tell me?"

"I – I can't tell you _now_," Charles finally admitted. "It's not safe. But I will tell you everything. Just not right now."

"Okay," Faith said genially. "How's your knee? Are you taking your medicine on time?"

"'Okay'? That's it, just 'okay'?"

"Charles, we are a house full of military brats and veterans. Mercy served in Afghanistan, I saw combat in Iraq and Hope is still not allowed to tell us where she served. If you say you can't tell us for security reasons, then we believe you. We don't think less of you for it."

"I know what elegant ladies you three are and sometimes I forget how fierce you can be. My warrior queens . . ."

"Geez, not hardly. Just ground-pounding jarheads, I'm afraid," Faith sighed, but Charles could hear the smile in her voice. "I didn't even make it through my enlistment without a dishonorable discharge."

"You were dishonorably discharged from the Marines?" Charles asked. He really couldn't picture Faith doing anything to warrant such a drastic dismissal. He couldn't picture any of them getting kicked out of the service. The Marine Corps might have gotten disgusted with Mercy's non-stop crying, but even that wouldn't have warranted a dishonorable charge. "What did you do?"

"I crashed a tank," Faith said.

"That's a bit harsh for a simple accident," Charles said.

"I crashed it rather well," Faith admitted. "One might almost use the word 'totaled'."

For a moment Charles wondered exactly what kind of maniac driving skills it took to total a tank. No wonder she kept getting done for drag racing. The girl had a need for speed. Then something else occurred to him.

"I didn't even know the Marines let women drive tanks."

"Yeah, they don't," Faith said.

One of the Gears put his hand on his headphones, tilting his head to the side. Then he lifted one cup and looked around in surprise. He slapped his companion on the shoulder and they both goggled at the spectacle of Charles F. Offdensen laughing.

"Oh, Faith . . . you're lucky you didn't end up in Leavenworth."

"They wanted to put me there, but I'd saved a few officers' lives with my crazy driving and I was really, really drunk at the time. In the end they were just amazed I could operate it well enough to move it at all."

"How drunk to you have to be—"

"Trying to forget you saw your friends die," Faith said quietly. "That's how drunk."

Charles sobered.

"Oh, that's . . . Faith . . ."

"Well, at least I didn't end up with PTSD like Mercy did. I may be a little emotionally stunted, but at least I don't cry all the time now."

Charles went quiet. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder; that actually made a lot of sense. He knew in the back of his mind that Mercy had been in the Marine Corps – the toughest branch of the Armed Forces – but made no effort to reconcile that with the woman he knew now, who cried over dead baby birds, sad books, and those fucking Humane Society commercials. At some point something had changed her from a fighting machine into a soppy mess.

"What about Hope?" Charles asked.

"Hope's actually half-way normal still. She was in Intelligence; she didn't see any combat."

"I should have known this . . ."

"You call to de-stress and I stress you out more. I'm really helping," Faith sighed.

"No, I want to know everything I can about my family," Charles told her. He was rewarded with a quiet little squeal from the other end of the phone. For a moment he was tempted to tell her of Father Bludforge's disapproval and how the priest wanted to replace the triplets with subservient broodmares, but there was simply no way to sanitize that enough.

"Are Mercy and Hope home?"

"Yes, Hope's been hovering at my elbow for the last five – don't sit on that! She's here. Getting grease all over her jeans."

A small cry of dismay reached Charles. He smiled at the antics of his ladies two thousand miles away.

"May I speak with the little greasy butt?"

"Yeah, here she –"

"Faith?"

"Yes, Charles?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"I miss you and I'll be home soon."

"I miss you, too. Here's Hope." Faith passed the phone to her youngest sister.

Hope received the same statement of non-disclosure Faith had and took it just as well. She regaled Charles with the news of every little thing that had happened in his absence. The music store had a new piano that she wanted, but it was $8,000 and way too expensive and where would she put it anyway.

"When I go back to work, I'm going to buy you a grand piano. White, set with green diamonds," Charles announced.

"Where would we even put a grand piano?" she laughed.

"Good point; I guess I'll have to buy you a mansion to go with it."

Hope laughed again, then made that little 'tsk'/clicking noise that meant she was chewing her lower lip. And that meant there was something on her mind.

"What is it?"

"Well . . ."

Charles heard Hope mounting the stairs out of the basement. Evidently she didn't want Faith overhearing their conversation. Dethklok's CFO cast a look at the two Gears present, but they were wrapped up in their work.

"We've got this new guitar teacher at work and he's been bugging me pretty hard for a date," Hope said.

For a long moment Charles said nothing. His first instinct was to get the man's description so that a few Gears could pay him a visit. He quickly tamped down the jealousy. The triplets had to share him without getting jealous. Maybe he would have to share them with someone else. He didn't really like that idea, if only because no one was good enough for them, not even Charles though they didn't seem to have realized this.

"Oh."

"So what should I tell him?"

"Uh . . . um . . . do you _want _to date him?" The disguised manager asked, his stomach starting to churn.

"No! He's kind of dumb and arrogant. And I would really like to never have to explain MA to another man for the rest of my life."

Charles' shoulders sagged with relief.

"What's MA?"

"Oh, that's um . . . the technical term for . . . . it's called müllerian aplasia when you're born without a vagina. You just get the outside bits."

"You have some inside bits," Charles protested. "Or else you really need to explain what I've been sticking my tongue in."

Hope's familiar giggle reached his ears.

"I'm a partial case; I have about two inches of 'channel' and that's it. And it doesn't connect to anything or go anywhere."

"Oh. So you can't have children?"

"No."

"Oh. Well, I suggest when this guitar teacher bothers you next, kick him in the shin, break a mandolin over his head and tell him to leave you alone!" Charles said, humor thick in his voice.

There was a long, long pause on the other end of the line.

"That's it?" Hope asked.

"Well, I suppose you could substitute a banjo for a mandolin . . ."

"No, I mean . . . Charles, when I told you that you couldn't penetrate me, you were just like: 'Oh, okay, there's other things we can do.' And now I tell you I'm technically deformed and can't ever have kids and you're like: 'Oh, whatevs!' I know you've been talking to Faith and Mercy about having children and . . . . stop being so perfect; you're freaking me out!"

"I'm far from perfect . . ."

"Close enough for me! Charles, I used to have to lie to my boyfriends about the MA until right before we were ready to have sex because if I told them beforehand, they'd just leave and wouldn't touch me at all! I used to have to _steal_ foreplay! When we first got together with you . . . . I was glad my sisters were in on it, too, because as long as you got to have real sex with them, you'd probably throw me a bone every now and then out of pity." There was a bit of a whimper on the end of the last sentence, as though the youngest triplet were tearing up.

"Hope . . ."

"And now I know you want kids and I'm glad they're here to give them to you since I can't. I just want you to know –"

"Even if we didn't have your sisters, there's adoption, surrogates, and egg donation. We would find a way," Charles said quietly. "Don't ever think that your sisters are taking up slack for some perceived inadequacy. I didn't decide to be with all three of you because there were three of you; you were all so wonderful I literally couldn't make up my mind. It scared me to say something because I thought you'd think I was a pig. Then you all wanted to share me. So don't tell me about being so perfect you're getting freaked out. You three broke my brain for about a week straight."

Hope giggled again, with only a hint of wetness in it.

"Hope, I love you."

"I love you, too, Charles," she all but cooed.

"I miss you and I'll be home soon."

"I can't wait. So, a banjo, huh?"

"Or a mandolin."

"How about a ukulele?"

"As long as you aren't ruining a perfectly good guitar—"

"Oh _shit_!"

"What?"

"I just sat on the couch," Hope announced.

" . . . in your greasy jeans?"

"Mercy's going to kill me."

"Why? What'd you do?" Mercy called from the kitchen.

Hope yelped as her sister stuck her head into the living room.

"I thought you were upstairs grading papers!"

"I came down for a cup of tea. What did you do?"

"Uh . . . . Charles is on the phone!" Hope held the telephone out as a peace offering.

Mercy leapt for the cellphone and clapped it to her ear. As soon as the middle triplet took the phone, Hope fled upstairs.

"Charles! How are you doing, honey? I've been missing you so – what the hell happened to the couch?"

"I understand there may have been an accident involving grease and jeans and a certain cute little butt," Charles said, chuckling.

"I swear that girl is such an airhead," Mercy said.

Charles could hear rustling sounds, followed by the quiet buzz of a zipper. He surmised Mercy was taking the cushion cover off for washing.

"Well, don't be too hard on Hope; we were having a deep, heartfelt discussion about bashing strange men on the heads with guitar-like instruments."

Mercy chuckled deep in her throat. Water started to run in the background.

"Deep, heartfelt discussions, huh? Sounds nice."

"Well, we could have one, if you like," Charles offered. "When would you like to do that thing you've always wanted?"

"What particular thing would that be?"

"Have children."

Charles jerked the phone away from his ear as a loud, metallic clang assaulted his hearing. He cautiously brought the headset back to his ear, only to hear more metallic noises and what sounded like splashing.

"Hello?"

More muffled thumps and cloth rubbing across the phone before Mercy's voice came back.

"Charles? Hello? Are you still there?"

"Yes?"

"I dropped the phone in the washer. I hope it still works. Oh, it's Faith's, good. Did – did you say what I thought you said?"

"Now, I've told Faith, that when I go back to work, I'll be away for a couple of months," Charles stated calmly. "I'm hoping it won't be a problem for you three to move to where I'll be."

"Where will you be?" Mercy asked.

"I can't tell you just yet. But once we get settled in . . . uh . . . I think we should start a family."

"Really?"

"Mercy Noh, I want my children to have your eyes and your smile and I can't think of another woman on earth who would make a better mother."

Charles was prepared for Mercy to burst into tears, but thanks to his earlier discussion with Faith, the disguised manager had a little more patience.

"Oh, Mercy, please don't cry," he murmured.

"I'm – I'm _happy_!" she sobbed. "No one – no one ever – no one ever wanted me to – to have their children before!"

"Well, every man you've ever met before me was an idiot," Charles said simply. "That's the only explanation."

A sound that was half laughter, half sobs filled his ear.

"Charles, I love you so much!"

"Mercy, I love you, too. And I would like to make a formal request for at least one boy. Sorry, I guess that makes me a chauvinist pig, but . . ."

"Charles, if they'd turn out like you, I would make _all_ boys, because this world needs a lot more Charles Stonebreakers!"

"Off-," the CFO began.

"Off what?" Mercy asked.

Charles snapped his mouth shut. He had almost corrected her on his last name. He almost revealed himself. Of course, he _would_ tell her eventually; he would tell all the triplets eventually. He'd tell them who he really was, let Faith in on all of the machinations of the Black Church, start making the next generation of Offdensens with Mercy and buy Hope that mansion with the white grand piano set with green diamonds. And they were willing to wait for the truth, because they were just that lovely.

But he couldn't do it just yet.

"Ah . . . a . . . a stray cat jumped up on the windowsill. Get off, you mangy thing!" Charles told the imaginary feline.

"Is it gone now?"

"Yes, yes it is."

" . . . _really_ happily ever after with babies?" Mercy pressed.

"I'll try on the happily ever after part, but definitely babies."

The middle triplet squealed with delight.

"You do know multiples are hereditary, right?"

"That's fine," Charles chuckled. "I think the four of us can handle a set of our own triplets."

Mercy's answer was chopped and garbled.

"Hello? Is the water seeping into the phone?"

More cut-off noises, but Charles caught a 'ove you'.

"I love you, too!" he practically yelled into the receiver. The two Gears peered over their shoulders at him. "Bad connection."

Dethklok's CFO hung up the phone. He stood and stretched as though he had just gotten a full-body massage. He felt brighter and more alert, almost buzzed after a talk with the three most perfect women in the world. He had . . . purpose. Oh, he always planned on preserving the band and ushering in a new world, but understood that success would be its own reward.

He did love his boys, the daffy little dipshits that they were, and he was in their inner circle, but he took a decent amount of good-natured abuse from them. He didn't get toasts or palling around, no one remembered his birthday, and no one wanted to hang out with him individually. He handled the Chosen Ones in this world and he would handle the Chosen Ones in the new world to come.

But now . . .

Now he had to remain on top because he had to keep his three ladies happy. If he took care of them, they would love him for the rest of their lives and give him children and help him and remember his birthday.

And the first order of business in the world to come was polygamy would be legal!

Charles exited the attic to find Father Bludforge and most of the resident Gears waiting for him.

"So! What do we have on Project Falconback?"


End file.
